


Little Bit of Feel Good

by fullofbloodandhoney



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Future Fic, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Snark, vet!blaine, writer!kurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-14
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-03 15:58:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullofbloodandhoney/pseuds/fullofbloodandhoney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt is not an animal person. Blaine is a vet. They dislike each other. Or do they.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>   
>   
>  courtesy of the lovely tere [mikehannigan](http://mikehannigan.tumblr.com) ♥  
> x  
> ~Also big thanks to Kat for betaing this fic. You're simply awesome.  
> 

**_T_** _here is a moment when you say to yourself, “how the hell did I get to this point?” In my case, that moment happened in the backseat of a taxi on my way from a vet clinic, which sounds kind of like a weird choice when it comes to places for soul-searching, but bear with me, because we’re just getting started._

 

_I’m not an animal person. I’m not the guy you’d find hanging out in pet shops; I don’t coo at hamsters, click my tongue at parrots, or tap at fish in water tanks in some foolish hope they’re follow my finger. Yet, there I was, in a cab, in a traffic jam, with a guinea pig named Spaghetti secured in a cardboard box in my lap, and suddenly I found myself revaluating my life, because that’s what we Americans tend to do when we get stuck in traffic jam, apparently._

_I realised that despite only nearing 25, I’m approximately as bitter as a 50 year old woman with insomnia, a mortgage and 2 pubescent children, and whose only happiness in life is Doritos and episodes of Everwood on tape. And I kept thinking about it and I kept trying to find the answer to the question_ why _. Why am I like this? What happened to that sweet rose-cheeked boy I used to know? I considered asking the cabbie, but the stains on his collar looked suspiciously like blood, so I kept my mouth shut and closed my eyes, just about the grasp at the concept of the meaning of life and all that stuff, I swear, which, unfortunately, was also when Spaghetti decided it was the right time to pee through the cardboard box right on my designer jeans._

_Needless to say, the day shall never come when soul-searching will come before Levi’s._

April 12th 2017 | Kurt Hummel

 

+

 

**Earlier that day:**

The office had yellow walls and stunk of disinfect and dog breath. Not much of an improvement after spending 40 horrendous minutes in a waiting room full of elderly people with dachshunds. Kurt set the box on the exam table and took a peek at his phone only to roll his eyes, because yep, he was definitely going to be late for his business lunch. He groaned internally, hoping Sue would be in a benevolent mood today.

“Why, hello, there, buddy.”

Kurt almost jumped in surprise when the door flied open and a young attractive doctor waltzed in, all smiles, clean-shaven cheeks and slicked-back curls, going straight for the box. He took the distressed Spaghetti out and snuggled him to his chest, offering Kurt his other hand to a shake. Kurt found himself squeezing the man’s fingers, staring at his face, still a little overwhelmed.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Anderson and I’m going to take care of your guinea pig today.”

Kurt nodded, unable to say anything that wouldn’t come out of his mouth as an embarrassing squeaky sound and instead watched Spaghetti being put back on the table as the man examined him.

Dr. Anderson looked Kurt’s age and also kind of cute in a casual sort of way. The white coat might have been shapeless and he was wearing a sweater underneath, but the buttons were unfastened so Kurt had a great view of his chest, clad in a pinstriped shirt that stretched across it in a delicious way. Not that it really mattered, anymore. The closest he’d ever been to a long-term relationship was with his daily cup of non-fat mocha. But that was before he switched to triple shot vanilla latte.

“So, what seems to be the problem?” asked Dr. Anderson, fingers softly combing through Spaghetti’s ginger fur, eyes fixed on Kurt.

“Um...” Oh yeah, eloquent. “I don’t know... he’s ill?” Kurt tried, shrugging a little. “Look,” he said finally, letting out a puff of air. “He’s not even _my_ guinea pig. My friend was busy today and she asked me to take him here, because apparently, that’s what good friends do, but I have an important meeting in two hours and I think he chewed a hole in the bottom of that box on our way here and I just... I’m a mess right now, aren’t I.” Kurt took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a minute to calm himself down.

Dr. Anderson cocked his head to a side, visibly amused.

“Are you by any chance Kurt?”

Kurt blinked in awe, raising one eyebrow.

“I... yeah, I am? It’s really creepy you know that, though.”

Dr. Anderson grinned, letting go of Spaghetti so he could sniff around for a bit, and moved towards his table to scrawl something down, smirking to himself the whole time (and really, what the hell was going on in here).

“Spaghetti is actually one of our most frequent patients. Your friend Rachel brings him to my office almost every other week for a check-up. She’s... quite something,” he giggled and spun around in his chair. “She talks about you a lot,” he added, locking eyes with Kurt, who felt his stomach sway in response.

Dr. Anderson cleared his throat, suddenly looking bashful, cheeks colouring.

“There’s a, uh, high probability she sent you here on purpose.”

Kurt frowned even more at that, already planning on choking Rachel with one of her stripy knee-high socks.

“And why, _pray tell_ , would she do anything like that?”

He had an inkling already, though, and judging by Dr. Anderson’s sleek exterior and the way his eyes kept sweeping across Kurt’s thighs clad in snug-fitting jeans, he was right.

“Oh my god,” he half-laughed before he was able to stop himself, bringing a hand to his mouth. “She tried to set us up, the little...” He balled up his fists and gritted his teeth, determined to have a serious talk with his best friend once he got home. One that would involve words such as ‘slowly’, ‘in your sleep’ and ‘with a tea spoon’, for sure.

Dr. Anderson snorted at his expression, the skin near his eyes wrinkling into cute little laughter-lines.

“Don’t be too hard on her. It’s actually kind of flattering. She tried flirting with me first, you know. She’d, like, wear _really deeply_ cut dresses, and uh...” he paused and scratched at his neck, blushing faintly.

_Oh, Rachel..._

Kurt rolled his eyes. He loved his best friend to death but she could be intense at times, which could turn into annoying which could very quickly turn into her listeners having to suppress the urge to gag her and lock her up in the nearest closet. Which wasn’t easy. Kurt had a ten-year-long experience to build that premise on.

“But when I told her that boobs weren’t really my thing, except maybe to lie down on, she didn’t even bat an eyelash. Next thing I know, she’s telling me your life story.”

Kurt actually whined in disbelief.

“Okay,” he exhaled, trying to relax inwardly, counting to ten. “Just how much have she told you?” He was almost afraid to ask. Rachel had been pressuring him to start dating for as long as he was able to remember, but she’d never gone this far. She must have been impressed with Dr. Anderson... not that he didn’t understand that, since Dr. McDapperCardigan was _quite_ pleasing to look at.

“Well, she told me about your...” Dr. Anderson waved his hand as if to find the right words, “ _...dating issues._ ”

“Oh my god. I don’t have _any_ issues. She always exaggerates, especially when it comes to me, so I’m not sure I want to know...”

Dr. Anderson propped his chin on his hand, looking Kurt up and down with a little provocative smile.

“You know, that’s the thing. I don’t think she was exaggerating all that much. You’re exactly the way she described you, which sort of shocked me when I first realised who you were.”

“And why’s that?” Kurt frowned, folding his arms on his chest, bracing himself.

“Well, to be honest, I would have never believed people like you actually existed.”

Kurt’s frown deepened, and he shuffled to his feet, drawing in a shallow breath.

“I’m certain there’s an insult somewhere in there, but I’m not so sure I want to know.”

Dr. Anderson chuckled darkly and stood up, walking closer to Kurt to look him straight in the eyes.

“Well, according to Rachel, you’re practically married to your job and despite being insanely attractive, you’re not interested in having a boyfriend. She also told me about your column, which, of course, tickled my curiosity, so I looked you up and read few of your articles. You’re really good, by the way.”

“Thank you, I guess,” mumbled Kurt, but Dr. Anderson raised his hand to silence him.

“You’re as sarcastic as you are witty. You go through five cups of coffee a day which keeps you up at night, driving you slowly but surely crazy. You live with your brother, with whom you have a love-hate relationship, to which I can relate, by the way, but you’re too soft-hearted to actually kick him out of the apartment. You gave up on love, either because something bad happened to you, or because you simply don’t believe in it. You’re talented and successful and you have a great deal of friends around you, yet you’re empty inside, being eaten up, bit by bit, by your own bitterness. Also, you don’t like animals.”

Kurt hadn’t noticed Dr. Anderson closing the distance between them as he talked, but he was merely inches away now, his hazel eyes huge and searching.

Kurt swallowed, feeling as if he had gotten slapped in the face with the last remark.

“So, Rachel did talk a lot, indeed,” he uttered.

Dr. Anderson didn’t move a fraction, his hot breath tickling Kurt’s cheek. Kurt wasn’t sure if the situation was more arousing or infuriating, but just for his sanity’s sake, he went with the latter.

“Actually, I managed to figure half of that out on my own, just by reading your column,” said Dr. Anderson, the teasing smile still plastered on his stupid handsome face.

“I wasn’t aware that this was a psychiatric office. If I wanted a psycho-analysis, I’d visit my therapist, not my vet,” Kurt growled in response.

“Well, technically, I’m _Spaghetti’s_ vet. But if you’re interested, I’m sure we could squeeze you into my schedule after that lovely pet skunk I have signed up for at 5 o’clock and take your temperature.”

“Gosh, you’re impossible! I can’t believe Rachel had even _thought_ about setting us up. This is ridiculous. _You’re_ ridiculous.” Kurt finally cracked, taking a step back and readjusting his satchel strap on his shoulder, mostly to busy his hands.

“Oh, that’s a first. Men usually find me charming and adorable.”

“They must be blind and deaf, then,” snorted Kurt and pointed at Spaghetti who had meanwhile waddled dangerously close to the edge of the table, sniffling at the air. “Just put him back into the box, so I can leave this hell hole. God, he’s probably not even ill at all, is he.”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that, as I’m the one with veterinary degree out of the two of us.”

“Yeah, well, I’m the one with at least some shame left out of the two of us, so if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere important to be.“

Kurt moved towards the exam table to scoop up the guinea pig, put it in the box and headed for the exit when the door opened, revealing a woman in a white robe with long blond hair carrying a huge angry-looking cat that struggled to get out of her grasp. They stared at each other for a moment before the woman’s blue eyes widened in sudden recognition.

“ _Oh_. Aren’t you Kurt?” she cocked her head to a side.

Kurt sighed, running his free hand through his hair.

“Has Rachel told _everybody_ here?” he groaned, drawing Spaghetti closer to his chest so the cat couldn’t get at him.

The nurse (which Kurt gathered she was) frowned a little, as if she was thinking about something really hard.

“I don’t know a Rachel,” she shrugged. “Blaine told me about you. He always giggles when he reads your stuff in the magazine. I’m Brittany. I would offer you my hand, but Mrs. Schrodinger would escape and drink all the water from the flowerpots again. I just watered them this morning and Blaine is too short to reach the watering-can on the upper shelf, so he can’t do it after his office hours.”

Kurt raised his eyebrows and turn to look at Blaine, whose cheeks were a little red. _Small victories_.

“Oh,” said Blaine, his hand flying back to his neck, rubbing at it. “I’ve been hoping you’d give me your number before you leave, but better focus on where’re you going so you don’t trip over those humongous circles under your eyes.”

Kurt sneered.

“You’ve just managed to insult me and ask me out in one sentence; congratulations.” He turned back to Brittany.

“Well, Brittany, it was nice to meet you. I hope I was everything and more you and _Blaine_ were hoping for,” he smiled sweetly and quickly left the room without any further words.

 

+

 

The business lunch was a disaster since Kurt had no other option but turn up in guinea pig pee-stained denim, which of course, Sue had picked up on the minute he’d sat down, wrinkling her nose and throwing a bun from the pastry basket at him. Damn her and her sense of smell that could easily compete with a German Shepherd.

She had, at least, approved of the self-loathing tone of his newest article, before she nonetheless sent him home, ordering him to take a long bath and never ever touch any animals with a ten-foot pole, since they seemed to enjoy peeing on him so much.

Kurt had got home late, completely drained from both the lunch and the morning encounter with Dr. Smartass Anderson, crashing down on the sofa in living room and refusing to move a muscle in the foreseeable future. Unfortunately, that was also when his brother got home from work with Rachel in tow chattering excitedly.

“’Sup, bro!” Finn greeted him from the doorway and effortlessly proceeded to the kitchen, undoubtedly looking for something to devour. Rachel, on the other hand, kicked off her flats and jumped on the sofa beside Kurt, tucking her knees under her chin and glancing at him, her huge brown eyes filled with silent expectations.

Kurt inhaled deeply. He knew she meant well. Hell, she had probably really thought he and Blaine were a good match, Lord knew that girl wasn’t able to match her skirts to her tops properly, let alone people. It had still pissed him off, though.

“So how was Dr. Blaine?” she suddenly squeaked, obviously unable to hold it in any longer.

“ _Rachel_ ,” he moaned, grabbing her hand to show her at least some affection before it was time for killing her with one of the baby blue pins from the excuse for a hairstyle on her head. “Please, never _ever_ try to set me up again, I beg you.”

Rachel frowned. “But Blaine is _perfect_ for you, Kurt. You have to trust me on this. He’s handsome and smart and he’s an Aquarius and you’re a Gemini, which would go so well together” she insisted.

“Leave my Gemini alone, all right?” hissed Kurt just as Finn slid into the seat to his left with an armful of food. “One stupid vet appointment and it cost me pair of perfectly good designer jeans and one set of nerves,” mumbled Kurt, reaching to steal a fry from Finn’s plate

“Hey, go get your own, bro,” exclaimed Finn, spluttering tiny pieces of food on his shirt, since his mouth was full. Kurt’s stomach turned inside out at the sigh.

“I’m suddenly not that hungry,” he uttered dryly and stood up from the sofa, gathering his laptop from the coffee table. “I think I’ll go to bed. Are you staying the night, Rachel?”

“But you can’t just leave now, I want to hear what happened with Blaine!”

“Wait, who’s Blaine?” Finn’s perked up, suddenly interested.

“Kurt’s hot vet,” said Rachel, her smile way too wide and bright for 10 pm.

“But we don’t have any pets,” frowned Finn, looking around as if he was expecting a flock of geese to fly out from behind the corner.

“No, we don’t, You’d have to kill me first. And no, he is not my vet, he’s Rachel’s,” explained Kurt as calmly as he could. Finn still looked confused, though.

“So you’re not denying he’s hot, then!” Rachel’s face was a picture of triumph. Kurt rolled his eyes.

“I’m not having this conversation. Good night,” he announced, already out of the door.

 

+

 

Kurt opened his eyes, giving up on trying to force them closed so he could get some sleep. It was useless. He reached towards his nightstand and grabbed his phone, his whole body jumping as the too bright screen came to life and almost blinded him.

God, it was 3 am.

He wasn’t gonna get any sleep tonight, was he? Kurt groaned, wanting to cry. It was so frustrating. Once he had started having these episodes of insomnia, he had learnt to consume several cups of coffee a day to stay on his feet, which had resulted in inability to fall asleep at night. He was trapped in a circle of misery and there was no way out. He had tried quitting coffee once, but he’d ended up twice as miserable, because he _still_ couldn’t fall asleep and in addition got caffeine withdrawal.

Life sucked for Kurt Hummel, these days, truth to be told.

He rolled onto his side and stared at the pale oblong of the window, squinting at the little shiny dots of the city. New York, the city of his dreams that had failed him in the end.

He sighed, slow and pitiful, resigning. Then he flicked on the lamp on his nightstand and popped his laptop open, tapping his fingers on the touch-pad impatiently while it was loading. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do once it ran, but he figured he might as well check his emails while at it.

His eyes widened as he logged into his email and noticed a new message. His enthusiasm, however, fell, when he noticed the name of the sender.

 

-

 

**From:** Dr. Blaine Anderson, BVSc  
 **To:** Kurt Hummel  
 **Subject:** Giving back to society

Kurt,  
I may not have scored your number, but my Google skills are excellent, so I at least managed to find your email address. I hope you’re feeling appropriately creeped out. *spooky music*

Our lovely morning encounter reminded me of just how many people in this world are still unhappy despite living the American dream. Like, seriously, what’s up with that!? You’re a healthy young gay man who should be dancing his heart out in a club, douchey guys hanging off your every limb. Yet, here you are, bitterer than my auntie Gladys, who refused to leave her chair for so long she grew into it (true story).

I don’t think you want to end up like my aunt Gladys, Kurt. She still has bits of furnishing in her ass. I hope you value your ass more than that.

Which is where I come to the picture (no pun intended, although that would have been a good one). I think your problem could be divided into two separate ones. One, you can’t sleep, and two, you don’t like animals. It is my professional opinion (and I did study medicine for 5 yrs), that these two problems are related. You should see people about this. And by people, I mean myself.

I’m a happy person. Probably the happiest person you’ll ever meet. I think it’s because I work with animals and also thanks to my collection of old pocket watches. (And believe me, you gotta take up a hobby when you live with a brother in his thirties. I think he’s having a middle-age crisis. I know, I know, but when it comes to Cooper, gender and age are irrelevant.) Getting back to the point. I think you should go out with me, so we could solve this problem of yours. And no, this is not some shady attempt at wooing you. If I wanted somebody with your attitude, I’d date Charlie Brown.

I just really want to give something back to society. Also, it would make your friend Rachel relax. And everybody in your close proximity, actually.

Let me know, soon, all right?

All the best,  
Blaine

 

-

 

Kurt stared at the screen in disbelief, temped to throw the whole laptop out of the window and proceed to bang his head against the wall. Dr. Blaine Anderson, BVSc was insane, it was official. There was no way he had actually meant what he’d wrote. Not even Rachel would come up with something so silly.

But, oh well. Kurt smiled mischievously and settled back into his pillows, cracking his knuckles. Two could play this game.

 

-

 

**From:** Kurt Hummel  
 **To:** Dr. Blaine Anderson, BVSc  
 **Subject:** My ass is none of your business

Dear Blaine,  
There’s absolutely nothing dazzling about you finding my address (which I’m still considering changing, by the way), since after typing ‘Kurt Hummel’ into Google, the first thing to come up is my Wikipedia page. I’ll be more impressed when you manage to google Pres. Obama’s number or Lindsay Lohan’s current bra size.

Your analyses of my person is sort of beautiful, in an insane kind of way, because as I already told you, you’re a vet, Blaine. A vet. It doesn’t matter how many years you spent at medical school. YOU’RE STILL TRAINED IN PULLING OUT WOLF TEETH AS OPPOSED TO HUMAN PSYCHOLOGY.

So, no. I won’t go out with you. I’d rather go out with one of the small half-deaf slobbering dogs from your waiting office, thank you very much.

I’d feel bad about rejecting you, but I’m sure you’ll find consolation in your collection of old pocket watches.

Sincerely,  
Kurt Hummel

 

-

 

Kurt clicked the send button, satisfied enough with his writing to actually giggle, albeit a bit viciously. His eyebrows flew up when an answer popped up on his screen.  
Ok, that was fast.

 

-

 

**From:** Dr. Blaine Anderson, BVSc  
 **To:** Kurt Hummel  
 **Subject:** I knew you weren’t asleep

Which is why I sent you my email so late at night (or is it early morning already? I don’t know the appropriate etiquette for insomniacs, you gotta help me out here).  
You’d be surprised how much human psychology and behaviour has in common with wolves. It’s truly fascinating.

The offer still stands, Kurt. Jokes aside, I think you could profit from our meeting(s). I bet I could borrow one of those dachshunds, if you wanted. There’s a chance they might slobber you into a nice person, if we’re lucky.

Don’t be a coward, Kurt. Meet me in front of a café between 7th and 8th Avenue, Saturday at 4 o’clock?

P.S. Put down the Caps Lock before someone gets hurt.  
Blaine

 

-

 

Kurt growled and shut down the laptop burying his head under his pillow. There was no way he’d actually go. It was tempting, though. Blaine could certainly give Kurt a run for his money when it came to snark. But what was the right thing to do in this situation? And most importantly, what would really help him solve his sleeping problem? There was also a column that wouldn’t write itself and Sue’s deadlines had actual reason to be called deadlines. He needed sleep and ideas.

Cue Blaine Anderson and his ability to milk the last drops of sarcasm out of him.

And maybe this was some sort of crazy reverse wolf psychology move at Blaine’s part. But Kurt could profit from it.  
And right now, it was the only option, too.

 

-

 

**From:** Kurt Hummel  
 **To:** Dr. Blaine Anderson, BVSc  
 **Subject:** Re: I knew you weren’t asleep

I’ll be there. But no dachshunds.


	2. Chapter 2

_**P** eople think that being a writer is peaceful and comfortable, but it's actually the worst thing you could ever do to yourself. Writing turns you into a creature not unlike an anglerfish (that really ugly thing with little light bulb dangling above its face), that drifts around the shady bottom of the ocean; only with better teeth.  
  
The worst kind of writers are the ones who don’t sleep at all. It’s because they simply can’t.  
  
I tried it all. Delicious hot beverages, Egyptian cotton sheets, calming herbal teas... Result? My brother got addicted to warm milk with honey, I got addicted to herbal tea, and my sheets are more expensive than my apartment. I can now count the sheep in style, but that’s the only real improvement.  
  
Some nights are better than others and I manage to fall into restless sleep. But I wake up the next day feeling even more exhausted than before I went to bed.  
  
It seems to be an unsolvable issue, doesn’t it? If only I really were a fish, so I could sleep while floating._  
  
April 17th 2017 | Kurt Hummel  
  
+  
  
 **Earlier that day:**  
  
Kurt took off his sunglasses, squinting at the faded sign resembling a sad potato face hanging above the door. He sighed and pulled out his phone to check the address again, but there was no doubt he was in the right place, as much as he’d like to pretend he wasn’t.  
  
Café Grumpy (and  _hell_  if Anderson wasn’t going to pay for that) was a tiny adorable coffee shop squished between two red-brick apartment buildings, surrounded by fire escapes and lime trees dressed up in brand new set of spring leaves.  
  
The whole front of the shop was glass and Kurt could see that the inside was just big enough for several round tables and a low counter behind which an obviously bored barista was fussing with empty coffee cups. Kurt clenched his jaw and leaned against the door, pushing them open.  
  
Blaine was seated at the table right by the entrance, legs crossed, one hand curled around an orange mug of plain-looking coffee, the other leafing through a magazine. He was wearing blue high-waters, a chunky grey cardigan and loafers, his hair was gel-free, cork-screw curls framing his face.  
  
“You know, if you just stayed in this position and never moved or opened your mouth to speak again, you could actually resemble a normal person.”  
  
Blaine jumped a little at the sound of Kurt’s voice, but if he’d really been startled, he didn’t show it because he immediately straightened in his chair, an obnoxious wide smile lighting up his features.  
  
“Kurt Hummel! Great to see you again. Sit down, I’ve already ordered for you.”  
  
Kurt quirked an eyebrow, hanging his satchel over the back of his chair, and started unbuttoning his pea-coat.  
  
“You know, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t say what my coffee order is on my Wikipedia page, so I don’t think you could have gotten it right, unless you’re at least partly psychic,” he said, settling down.  
  
Blaine smirked, folding his magazine in half and leaning closer over the table. Suddenly, Kurt found himself staring into a pair of hazel eyes from such close proximity he was able to count the golden specs inside them.  
  
“Have you been getting any sleep at all? You look like an undertakers ad,” Blaine backed away and took a sip from his mug.  
  
Kurt blinked twice, calming himself down by mentally going through the alphabet. He wasn’t going to lash out today, he was not. He was going to talk to Blaine, calmly, and then he was going to write his article and Sue was going to stop sending him texts filled with exclamation marks.  
  
“I thought that was why I came here. Didn’t you say something about giving back to society?”  
  
“Yeah, totally. I have a plan and everything. It has four stages and if you manage to get through all of them, you’ll be a free man.” Blaine’s smile was so wide and bright. And obnoxious. Kurt arched an eyebrow.  
  
“As in, I’ll be able to sleep, work and function like a living person, you mean?”  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
Kurt looked up as the barista set a matching orange coffee mug on the table in front of him, mumbling a ‘here you go, sir’ as he dragged his feet back behind the counter.  
  
“I wonder if this guy actually has it in his contract that he has to be grumpy, or if the coffee shop is named after him,” remarked Blaine and Kurt giggled despite himself as he took a whiff of the steam, licking a little at the whip cream on top.  
  
“Is this by any chance a mocha?” he asked, voice coloured with awe.  
  
Blaine’s smile couldn’t get any wider if he tried as he nodded.  
  
“I’m great with people’s coffee orders, aren’t I? Take me: I’m a simple guy; straightforward, nice and clean. I like things the old-fashioned way and I can appreciate them in their pure state.”  
  
Kurt snorted.  
  
“I’m not completely stuck-up, though, and I like some excitement in my life, so I usually dust the top with cinnamon. A Medium Drip with Cinnamon guy,” finished Blaine, pointing at himself.  
  
“Then there’s you,” he raised his thick eyebrows, tapping a finger against his chin. “You’re in no way a simple guy, Kurt Hummel. You’re layered, just like your clothes. Bittersweet on the bottom, slightly steamed and slim in the middle... all that topped with sweetened whipped cream. A non-fat mocha guy.”  
  
Kurt stared at him wide-eyed, not sure whether to laugh or call the mental ambulance.  
  
“I hope the whipped cream remark was a compliment to my hair, for your own good.”  
  
Blaine brushed his messy bangs out of his face, chuckling.  
  
“Anyway, it’s sort of a hobby of mine, guessing people’s coffee orders.”  
  
“Along with collecting pocket watches. Right. Your hobbies are weird, Anderson,” Kurt pointed out. “Besides, non-fat mocha is not my coffee order anymore. Hasn’t been for years, actually.”  
  
Blaine frowned for a second, but his face brightened almost instantly.  
  
“Ok, hold on. I think I know where this is going. Several extra shots of caffeine and a flavour, right?”  
  
Kurt nodded, unimpressed.  
  
“And we’re back to my sleeping habits, which is why we’re here in the first place.”  
  
Blaine stared at him for a while, unblinking.  
  
“Right. I wanted to tell you a story of a Pyrenean mountain dog that came to my office few months ago.”  
  
Kurt stifled another giggle.  
  
“Should I make myself comfortable, Dr. Doolittle?”  
  
  
  
Blaine took a sip of his Drip, licking the remains of cinnamon from his lips. Kurt shifted in his seat.  
  
“So, Dizzy was a perfectly healthy dog. Beautiful, strong body, shiny, pure brown eyes...”  
  
“Are you sure you’re talking about a dog and not somebody you met at The Urge Lounge?” Kurt spluttered around his mug.  
  
“There were no real signs of illness,” continued Blaine, waving his hand to silence Kurt. “Except that he didn’t want to eat and couldn’t sleep at night. He’d wander around the house, restless and uneasy, and occasionally howl at his master’s door. We tried everything. Long walks before bedtime, massages, moving his blanket away from the heating, then closer to the heating, we even sang to him...” Blaine added, smirking a little. “Nothing helped.”  
  
Kurt took another a sip of his mocha, grimacing at the sweetness.  
  
“I can imagine your singing only added to that poor creature’s misery,” he snickered.  
  
“I’ll have you know I used to be in my high school’s glee club, Hummel.”  
  
Kurt’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he decided not to say anything.  
  
“I did a lot of reading and I consulted some of my friends from college, but nobody had any ideas. So I just looked at it from a different point of view.”  
  
“And what did you see?” Kurt leaned forward on his chair, suddenly intrigued.  
  
“Dizzy wasn’t sick, per se. And it wouldn’t have been so hard to figure out had I taken my head out of my ass sooner. You know that baby animals usually sleep pressed to one another as close as they can, right? It’s their shared body heat and their mother’s heartbeat that lulls them into sleep and makes them feel safe and loved.  
  
Dizzy was getting old. Not like  _old_  old, he was still in a great condition, but he was getting too old to not care about being lonely. So I told his owners to buy another animal to keep him company and they bought him a kitten.”  
  
“So he was lonely,” repeated Kurt slowly, fidgeting with his napkin.  
  
“It worked like a charm,” nodded Blaine. “Dizzy and the kitten have been sleeping well ever since.”  
  
“Is that how  _you_  fall asleep? Wait, don’t say anything, you probably sleep in a pile of puppies,” Kurt waved his hand at the pouting Blaine. “But anyway, what’s it have to do with me? We’ve already established that I’m not an animal person. I’m not going to sleep in some dirty sheepdog’s den. I had my fair share of those in college, thank you very much.”  
  
Blaine giggled.  
  
“That’s not exactly what I meant. I was getting at the loneliness thing. Your insomnia is just you being lonely. Nothing more.”  
  
“But that’s not true.” Kurt shook his head, frowning. “You know I share the apartment with my brother and Rachel practically lives on my sofa. I’m  _never_  alone.  
“I never said you were  _alone_ , Kurt.”  
  
Blaine’s gaze was intense and somewhat warm and Kurt had to look away.  
  
“I need to go.” He cleared his throat and scrambled from his chair, eager to get some fresh air.  
  
“Ok,” nodded Blaine, raising his arms over his head and stretching.  
  
“You’re not going?” Kurt’s brow furrowed as he watched Blaine settle back in his seat, reaching for the forgotten magazine he had been reading before Kurt arrived.  
  
“Nope. I don’t have any patients today, so I’ll just stay here and chill out for a bit longer. Looking at your face was kind of emotionally exhausting, to be honest. I think me and your face should see other people for a while.” Blaine gave Kurt a cheerful smile, lifting his cup towards him in sort of a toast.  
  
Kurt took a deep breath.  
  
“Have anyone ever told you that you’re a real asshole?”  
  
“No, not in fact,  _no_ ... But there was this one ex-boyfriend of mine, who was really into fi-”  
  
“Oh my god, shut up!” exclaimed Kurt quickly. “Stop right there. I’m leaving right now,” he rushed out, feeling a blush of a second-hand embarrassment colouring his cheeks. He slipped into his pea-coat and swung his satchel over his shoulder, fishing for his wallet.  
  
“By the way, how did you like my choice of the setting?” asked Blaine, his lips still stretched into that annoyingly innocent smile. “I thought you’d appreciate the touch when I first discovered it last week. The signboard made me think of your face.”  
  
Kurt shoot him a blank stare.  
  
“So charming, Anderson, how are you single, I wonder,” he said dryly.  
  
“They couldn’t handle all this,” said Blaine proudly, sprawling about in the chair like it was a throne.  
  
“That I am sure of,” Kurt finally managed to retrieve the money, practically throwing them onto the barista on his way out, not even bothering with any goodbyes. After all, he was sure he’d hear about Blaine Anderson soon enough.  
  
-  
  
On his way home he scribbled down what would become his next column on the back of an envelope he found in his satchel, Blaine’s words echoing in his head. He capped his pen with a profound click just as the bus reached his station.  
  
-  
  
The apartment was suspiciously silent when Kurt entered it, despite the fact that Finn was supposed to be home for ages. Yet, there were no traces of annoying classic rock music or smell of burnt cheese in the air Kurt had learnt to associate with his brother over the years of living with him.  
  
Kurt shrugged and proceeded to the living room, almost tripping over Finn’s backpack in the doorway. He gritted his teeth and bent down to lift it, before changing his mind and kicking it out of his way instead, smiling as it hit the wall with a satisfying clunk.  
  
“Finn!” he tried, but there was no answer. Where  _was_  the giant cheese-devourer?  
  
Kurt shrugged again and turned towards his room, instead, looking forward to stripping off his uncomfortable clothes and stretching himself across the bed. And who knows, maybe he could manage a little nap while he was there...  
  
He did a double take as he opened the door, though, his jaw dropping.  
  
There was a cage on his nightstand and it wasn’t empty. A small yellow bird was perched in there, looking at Kurt with his black, beadlike eyes. Kurt gaped back. They stared at each other for a moment before Kurt shook his head and took few steps closer.  
  
“What the hell,” he muttered under his breath, raising his hand to touch the cage with his fingers as if to make sure it was really there. It was really there. A cage. In his room. With a living bird in it.  
  
Fucking hell.  
  
Kurt turned on his heel when he heard the apartment door click as Finn stomped in, his cheeks red and hair all puffy from the wind.  
  
“Kurt, dude! So glad you’re back home!” he exclaimed and kicked off his shoes.  
  
“Why is there a bird in my bedroom, Finn?” Kurt breathed in through his nose, trying to make his voice sound calm.  
  
“There was this guy earlier... Blade Jefferson...”  
  
Kurt’s eyes widened as he suddenly forgot about his fury, because  _hell_  no...  
  
“Blaine Anderson was here!?”  
  
“Yeah, that’s what I said. He dropped in at the apartment while you were at work and told me that he’d leave you something in your room that I’m not permitted to see.” Finn shrugged his shoulders, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets, actually looking apologetic.  
  
“But then he left and I heard these weird noises coming out of there and I was really curious, so I peeked.”  
  
Kurt scrambled his hands over his face, howling quietly in disbelief.  
  
“I’m sorry I looked!” Finn’s eyes were full of fear.  
  
“Finn. I don’t care if you looked or not. But why did you let a complete stranger into our house? Into my room? Blaine Fricking Anderson was in my room and I’m not sure I want to know what he was doing there besides planting his dirty little song-bird on me.”  
  
Finn frowned. “But he said he was your friend and that you knew about this and he was only there for a minute, I swear. He was really nice. We had tea and cookies.”  
  
Kurt’s face fell. “You shared the cookies  _I made_  with him?”  
  
Ok, this was getting serious. Finn never shared his food. Never. Not even with Rachel. He once threatened to stab Puck with his chopsticks when he asked if he could have one of his mushrooms.  
  
 _“Dude.”_  Finn nodded furiously. “That guy is, like, the coolest, ever. He’s a vet, so he can tell you all these amazing stories about animals and stuff. Did you know Blaine used to work at the zoo while he was in college? He told me this really awesome story about a pocket watch in a crocod-“  
  
“Fascinating,” interrupted him Kurt without a trace of interest in his voice. He couldn’t believe Blaine had Finn wrapped around his little finger already, when it had taken Kurt years to train him not to put fruit in the fridge. He sighed, giving in mentally.  
  
“Ok, so... where did you go then? Why did I only come home to Birdie The Early Bird twittering away on my nightstand?”  
  
“I went to get him some seeds,” said Finn, reaching into his pocket and handing Kurt a little paper envelope.  
  
Kurt sighed again, but took the pack, peering at the little label on the front.  
  
He rolled his eyes.  
  
“Finn. Those are Tommy Toe-Cherry Tomato seeds, dammit.”  
  
-  
  
Kurt sat on the edge of his bed, dressed in pyjamas, staring at the cage. He wasn’t sure whether he should be angry, since the bird barely moved, anyway. He was sort of pretty; bright yellow with shiny feathers and black round eyes.  
  
“I suppose you’re glad you got away, aren’t you, buddy,” said Kurt, smirking a little. “Life with Anderson can’t be easy. You’re actually a survivor.”  
  
He grimaced when the bird ruffled his feathers but didn’t move otherwise.  
  
“I know. Me too. Let’s see if we can get any sleep tonight, eh? We could tell each other scary stories if the sleep doesn’t come, how about that?”  
  
Kurt slapped the light switch and slipped under the covers, screwing his eyes shut for a moment and shaking his head.  
  
“Gosh, I’m actually talking to a canary.”  
  
Of course he couldn’t fall asleep. It was Saturday and he should have been exhausted but he just couldn’t topple over the edge.  
  
Kurt lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, counting the invisible cracks in the paint. He turned his head where he could make out a silhouette of the cage in the darkness of the room. The bird was in there, probably sleeping or whatever it was birds did at night, and it was sort of nice. It had been nice to talk to somebody before going to sleep, too, Kurt had to give Blaine that. But still, he had practically broken into his room, while Kurt wasn’t home, and what if he went through his stuff, like underwear or worse, his collection of exotic Sunday brooches?!  
  
Kurt sighed, flicking the switch on again and reaching for his laptop.  
  
-  
  
 **From:**  Kurt Hummel  
 **To:**  Dr. Blaine Anderson, BVSc  
 **Subject:**  Pavarotti  
  
I can't believe you gave me a bird. I told you NO ANIMALS. Your plan is PREPOSTEROUS. There's no way he'll help me sleep. He's a bird, not a bottle of Unisom.  
  
I was tempted to name it Anderson and throw it into a washer, by the way, but it was too cute to have either of those things done to it.  
  
On a related note, how does one even take care of a bird? I know virtually nothing about animals. What if I kill it? Or more importantly, what if it kills me? I've seen Finn play Angry Birds, it's never pretty.  
  
Right now it's sitting in the cage with its head under its wing silently judging me. It hates me. Come get it, Anderson, I don't like being judged, especially not in my own room.  
  
I heard you said we were friends. Elaborate?  
  
Sincerely,  
Kurt Hummel  
  
  
P.S. I hope you choked on the cookies  
  
  
-  
  
 **From:**  Dr. Blaine Anderson, BVSc  
 **To:**  Kurt Hummel  
 **Subject:**  That's how birds sleep  
  
  
Hey, Kurt!  
  
  
First of all, I didn't *give* you anything. That canary is mine and I'm getting him back after he's helped you.  
  
Mistaking birds for sleeping pills would be funny. "Have you taken your canary today, Mr. Hummel?" But as a vegetarian, I strongly disapprove. (Just give him fresh water and some seeds every morning, he'll be fine.)  
  
He's not judging you, that's just your subconsciousness telling you the bitter truth. Not so sure about the bedroom part, though. Do you have issues in that area, too? Because I'm not sure the canary can help you with that.  
  
They were delicious. I couldn't believe a person like you could be capable of making something that tasted so heavenly. I think your brother would agree with me on that.  
  
Give Pavarotti (I like the name, btw) a goodnight kiss for me, please.  
  
And yes, I suppose we are! We’re not very conventional friends, but at least we’ll tell each other the bitter truth, at any opportunity. How about that.  
  
Do svidaniya,  
Blaine  
  
-  
  
 **From:**  Kurt Hummel  
 **To:**  Dr. Blaine Anderson, BVSc  
 **Subject:**  Do you kiss all your animals good night?  
  
So you're a vegetarian, then? We have that in common. (That's a first!) I suppose I shouldn't be surprised since in your case you'd be consuming your own species.  
  
How long is this canary therapy supposed to take? Because I saw a cage cover on my way from work that would go well with my bedspread.  
  
I guess I'll have to see you again, since you'll need to get your bird back and all. State the place and time so we can get it over with.  
  
I can't believe he shared the cookies with you, since he usually inhales the whole batch on his own. He said you were awesome and giggled. GIGGLED. He's not even gay, Anderson. I call witchcraft.  
  
Ok, let’s say we’re friends then. Who dislike each other. I guess I could always use a little pal with knowledge of zoology since my brother has a brain of snail.  
  
Write back quickly, I think I might nod off soon (praise the non-existent Lord).  
  
K.H.  
P.S. Russian? Really, Anderson?  
  
  
-  
  
  
 **From:**  Dr. Blaine Anderson, BVSc  
 **To:**  Kurt Hummel  
 **Subject:**  Are you calling me a pig?  
  
Eager to see me soon again, eh? Well, I suppose a month should be enough.  
  
Although I think we should meet up at least once week so I can *observe the object*. Same time and same place as last time? We could call it Grumpy Saturdays. Oops, sorry, I forgot that's what you call all of your days. I wouldn't want you to get confused.  
  
Are you buying things for my canary, Kurt? Don't get too attached. Or don't get * him* too attached to the cover if you're going to get it for him, the bird's fussy when you take away his things.  
  
I've been known to turn people gay. Ask my med school roommate. He'll never forget that night. (Tell Finn I said hi.)  
  
So the canary is actually working! Is it safe to proclaim me genius yet? I could get the method patented.  
  
Stop making fun of my height. We’ve just become friends, so don’t make me un-friend you.  
  
I think you find my Russian alluring.  
Blaine  
  
  
-  
  
  
 **From:**  Kurt Hummel  
 **To:**  Dr. Blaine Anderson, BVSc  
 **Subject:**  Do you have a thing for my brother?  
  
I’d advise you not to take that road. He’s much better now, but he used to freak out every time I came near him with a moist towelette. What a weird thing to have a phobia of.  
  
Besides, he and Rachel are sort of a couple, so she could come after you, too. You do *not* want to face her fury, believe me. It would be much worse than when she forced her boobs on you.  
  
You won’t offend me, because I actually *liked* the café. I think the barista was my soulmate. But no more non-fat mochas, please. Being complicated is too tiring and I don’t have any energy to spare.  
  
I sort of hate it when you’re sort of right.  
  
Good night!  
  
K.H.  
P.S. You’ve got no height to make fun of  
 _  
_


	3. Chapter 3

_**W** hy don’t we talk about friendship today? I’ve been quite lucky in that area, thanks to the Glee Club I used to attend in high school. At first there were only handful of us; we were inexperienced, naïve, and we sucked. We also pretty much hated each other. Today, I trust those same people with my life.  
  
I guess all great friendships are like that. First you despise each other, but then you find out that good friends are those who are honest and always let you know what they think. A little bit of sarcasm is healthy for the soul. And if you can strike back, it’s a great ride. _  
  
May 5th 2017 | Kurt Hummel  
  
+  
  
 **Earlier that day:**  
  
Blaine was a strange friend to have. Kurt was pretty sure they still disliked each other and neither of them ever failed to bring it up, but somehow, he felt comfortable in his company. It never ceased to make him smile how good Blaine was at returning his biting remarks, always teasing and bickering. Granted, Kurt often felt like stuffing something in Blaine’s throat to silence him.  
  
There had been this one incident at the market when Kurt got so fed up with Blaine’s constant ridiculous comments on every purchase they made (“Are you sure it’s organic? Why is this eggplant so weirdly shaped? Do you think these grapes would bring out the colour of my eyes if I put them on my head?”) he attempted to feed him a whole cantaloupe in the middle of the street, causing an elderly lady passing by to smack him in the head with her purse.  
  
“This is not how you treat your husband, young man!” she screeched over her shoulder as she marched on, her fake ginger curls bouncing on her head, leaving Kurt with his mouth open and what used to be perfectly styled bangs plastered to his forehead, the cantaloupe rolling out of his grasp and landing on the ground with a splat.  
  
Blaine snorted so hard he almost fell over a satsuma stall, tears of laughter streaming down his cheeks.  
  
“Your face! Oh my god, I wish you could see yourself right now,” Blaine wheezed between more giggles bubbling out of his mouth, wiping his face.  
  
“Oh yeah, laugh it out, Anderson, you’re not the one with a Gucci emblem imprint on your forehead. I’m not sure what I should be more angry about. The fact that she called you my husband or that her purse was a knock-off.” Kurt rubbed at his sore brow, puffing his cheeks in annoyance.  
  
“Where are we going anyway? And why do we need  _a wagonload_  of carrot and lettuce? I can barely see through all this stuff,” he grumbled trying to blow away the carrot-top currently tickling his nose.  
  
“Patience, young Padawan!” exclaimed Blaine, slipping the satsuma seller few bills. “We’re going to take the subway,” he added, scratching at his hair and freeing few curls from their gel prison in the process. He was dressed semi-casual that day, a mix of the dapper Dr. Anderson Kurt saw in the vet’s office and Bob Dylan look-alike he usually resembled when he and Kurt hung out.  
  
Kurt groaned.  
  
“I’m not going to be patient. I haven’t had my coffee yet and my patience is wearing thin. Very thin. It’s so thin it’s practically see-through. Just tell me where we’re going and, and  _hell_ , get me some caffeine!”  
  
“Oh I see how it is!” chuckled Blaine, taking some of the paper bags from Kurt’s arms. “We’re over the honeymoon period of our friendship now.”  
  
“Like we’ve ever been in one to begin with, Anderson,” Kurt rolled his eyes.  
  
  
+  
  
  
Kurt had always liked subway better than the bus. The ride from work to his place took approximately half an hour which was a great time-span for getting his column done without the danger of getting distracted by the beauty of NYC behind the windows. True, his fellow subway passengers often offered an even more distracting view, in both the good and bad sense of that word (Kurt was pretty sure he still had the number of a cute subway-guy somewhere deep in his notebook).  
  
Travelling on the subway with Blaine Anderson was a whole new experience; but then everything was a whole new experience when it came to being friends with Blaine. Blaine was one of those people who liked to talk while travelling. A lot. Not caring about the fact that half the people in the carriage were listening and inwardly laughing at them.  
  
Kurt took a deep gulp of his latte as he sunk into the seat, jumping a little when Blaine plopped down next to him.  
  
“So tell me; how’s Pavarotti these days,” Blaine asked as soon as the train moved forward, their shoulders bumping, arms brushing against one another.  
  
“He’s fine,” Kurt sighed, ignoring the tingling feeling under his skin.  
  
He was honestly very fond of the bird. He wasn’t sure whether he really was good for his sleep, but it was nice to have somebody to talk to before going to sleep, that was for sure. Some days, Pavarotti would already be sound asleep with his head under his wing when Kurt came home from work, so Kurt would just study him for a moment, admiring the shine of his bright yellow feathers, before covering the cage and changing into his pyjamas.  
  
“I still feel like he doesn’t like me all that much, though,” he admitted, turning his eyes to Blaine, who had a small smile playing on his lips.  
  
“How come?”  
  
“Well, he almost never sings, you see. He does sort of chirp from time to time, usually in the morning... but that’s all. I fear the day he packs up his seeds and his bell and leaves.”  
  
Blaine snorted.  
  
“He’s a bird, Kurt. I mean,” he corrected himself as Kurt shot him a look, “a  _fabulous_  bird, but it usually takes them a while to get used to a new place and start being truly happy, especially if they’re this fabulous. Maybe you could sing to him..? It used to help him when I did it.”  
  
Kurt’s heart instantly sank, beating wildly against his ribcage.  
  
“I don’t sing,” he mumbled quietly, clearing his throat which felt a bit too dry suddenly.  
  
Blaine shrugged. “Well, it doesn’t matter if you’re not good. He just needs somebody to sing with, I guess. Every bird does.”  
  
Their eyes locked, Kurt’s confused and searching, Blaine’s warm and understanding.  
  
It was sort of nauseating.  
  
“You did not just used a bird metaphor on me, Anderson?” Kurt finally spluttered. “Sometimes I could swear you come from a different era.”  
  
“And I think you’re ready for stage two,” winked Blaine, collecting his bags of veggies as they reached their station.  
  
  
+  
  
  
“What  _is_  this place?” Kurt chewed on his upper lip when they stopped in front of a brightly painted building with a massive wooden front door.  
  
“This, my dear Hummel-stiltskin, is  _Mary Pawpin’s Pet Station_ ,” he announced proudly, pushing at the door and holding it open for Kurt.  
  
“You’ve  _got_  to be kidding me...” Kurt breathed out when he stepped inside and looked around.  
  
The place was huge and literally  _filled_  with cages of all sizes and shapes. It  _smelled_  too, a little like fresh wood shavings (which Kurt hadn’t been familiar with and it almost shocked him how nice a smell it was) and a lot like guinea pig pee (which Kurt was  _very_  familiar with). Kurt was suddenly grateful Blaine had stopped him from dressing up this morning, when he noticed bunnies hopping around and guinea-pigs randomly sniffling at their trousers.  
  
“The only way you could have made this worse would be if you had taken me to a zoo,” Kurt gritted between his teeth.  
  
Blaine’s eyes widened. “Have you been peeking into my planner?” He put his arms around Kurt’s shoulders and dragged him towards the nearest cages.  
  
“Oh my god” was Kurt’s only reaction to every cage Blaine showed him, never forgetting to explain which animal exactly they were seeing and what was special about it.  
  
“I know, right?” Blaine shot Kurt a wide smile after his sixth ‘oh my god’ in a row. “And do you know what’s so special about this place?”  
  
“Tell me, Anderson; I can barely contain myself.” Kurt’s voice was dull and sort of scratchy like it was coming from an old radio.  
  
“It’s only for small animals. There are so many different shelters for cats and dogs all over NYC, but people usually tend to forget all about the smaller animals, like rabbits, hamsters, chinchillas and mice. So people from Mary Pawpin’s rescue them and then try to find new homes for them; to place them with someone who deserves them.”  
  
Kurt looked around again, taking in the surroundings, this time not looking at the cages but focusing on the furry little faces behind the bars. Blaine crouched down to look closer at the cage by their feet and pulled at Kurt’s hand to draw him down along, giggling.  
  
“Just look at them; they’re so happy!”  
  
The cage Blaine was showing him was actually full of black baby-rats, jumping and running around, getting stuck between the bars, pawing in their bedding, most of them playing in the running wheel, making squeaky noises.  
  
“Are you by any chance related?” Kurt asked softly, quirking one eyebrow as Blaine gave him a dazzling smile in return.  
  
  
“Dr. Blaine is here! Dr. Blaine!”  
  
Kurt instinctively jumped aside as a pack (and he couldn’t call it anything else if he tried) of about 5 children surrounded them, some of them literally attacking Blaine, trying to climb his legs like a tree, others hanging off his arms like some sort of living accessory, yelling one across another, making Kurt a little dizzy.  
  
“Will you help us clean the cages, Dr. Blaine?”  
  
“Is one of the bunnies sick?”  
  
“Will you give him injections?”  
  
“Who is your pretty friend?”  
  
“Will you sing a song, Dr. Blaine?”  
  
Blaine only laughed helplessly as a tiny girl with blonde pigtails jumped on his back and wrapped her thin legs around his waist, giggling uncontrollably.  
  
Kurt was watching the scene with wide eyes. Did Blaine know they were going to be here? What was going on? And whose  _were_  all the children?  
  
“Who’s the tall man by the door, Dr. Blaine?” one of the boys asked again, pulling at Blaine’s sleeve to get his attention. Blaine smirked, glancing at Kurt.  
  
“This is my friend Kurt, guys, he came to help us with the animals today,” he announced. Kurt stood there awkwardly, but then gave a little wave to break the tension.  
  
“Your hair looks like grass. Only it’s brown,” the boy said.  
  
“Uh... thanks?” Kurt blinked twice, trying not to subconsciously brush his fingers through it.  
  
“Blaine!” another voice, this time female, resonated through the place as a dark haired woman launched herself at Blaine, laughing in the process.  
  
“You came to volunteer today!” She exclaimed. “That’s amazing!”  
  
“Hey, Tina,” chuckled Blaine, patting the woman on her back friendly. “I brought a friend along, hope that’s fine,” he motioned with his hand towards Kurt and the woman looked him up and down with interest glittering in her huge brown eyes.  
  
“Hello, I’m Tina Cohen-Chang; you can call me Tina, dear,” she offered Kurt his hand and he took it, squeezing it a little.  
  
“Kurt Hummel,” he answered nervously, blushing a little.  
  
“Aww, Blaine, he’s  _adorable_ !” Tina giggled, moving to Blaine. She rubbed his arm affectionately and winked at Kurt, her smile wide and mischievous.  
  
  
  
Kurt found working with children and animals equally fun and horrifying. They were constantly running everywhere, trying to tackle either him or Blaine to the ground, giggling and shrieking. Blaine was slighter and he never paid much attention where the kids were hiding, so Kurt would more often than not find him on the floor covered in lettuce and rabbit poop. He was always laughing, though. Even when Kurt pulled him back to his feet and pointed out a pee stain the size of Madison Square Garden on his shirt.  
  
They successfully managed to clean all the cages, even the one with the crazy rats, feed the animals and tidy up the place in a record time. And Kurt had enjoyed himself. A lot, actually. Despite the rat that had tried to make a nest in his back pocket.  
  
Tina threw an impromptu picnic on the floor, serving elderberry juice and scones for the kids while Kurt and Blaine sat on boxes of feed nearby, enjoying their coffee and occasionally reaching out to pull bits of hay out of each other’s hair.  
  
Blaine finished his cup in one last large gulp and jumped to his feet, dusting off his black trousers.  
  
“I think it’s time for a song, guys, what do you think?”  
  
Tina beamed as she handed him an ukulele, the kids cheering and whooping. Kurt quirked an eyebrow. So he’d finally get to hear Blaine sing, then?  
  
“So guys,” started Blaine, fiddling a bit with the tuning pegs. He strummed a little, finally pulling a satisfied face. “Last time I played you the Elephant Song from Sesame Street and I think we should do something smaller, this time.”  
  
He glanced at Kurt, his smile soft and warm.  
  
“And since my friend Kurt here is wearing such a nice bowtie today, I thought we could do a song about a butterfly. Because it’s just as pretty.”  
  
Kurt’s hand automatically flied up to touch the purple bowtie he had put on that morning to match his belt, tugging at it a bit self-consciously. Was Blaine making fun of it or did he genuinely like it? Well, it wasn’t like the kids would notice irony...  
  
“It’s also a song about friendship. Which is one of the most important things in life. So you should totally hold your friend’s hand while listening to this,” finished Blaine, giving them all one last smile before strumming few first chords and opening his mouth.  
  
 _Let's flap our wings and fly together,  
little butterfly friend.  
Flutter through the sky together,  
little butterfly friend._  
  
Kurt’s jaw went slack. Blaine was good. His voice was smooth and surprisingly soft, not unlike honey. What really struck Kurt about the whole performance was how  _into it_  Blaine was. His eyes were closed, his cheeks were flushed with excitement, and he somehow managed to keep that wide smile on even while singing.  
  
 _As free as a breeze on a sunny day  
We're butterflying all the way._  
  
  
All the kids were holding each other’s hands, swaying in the rhythm of the song, some of them singing quietly, albeit a little out of tune. Kurt knew this song. He remembered it from when he was small and used to watch Sesame Street with his dad. He literally itched to join.  
  
  
But he didn’t. Couldn’t.  
  
  
So he focused back on Blaine instead, his gaze sweeping across Blaine’s features that looked far more relaxed than he had ever seen them. He looked so happy at that moment. And also handsome.  
  
  
It was easy to forget what an ass could Blaine Anderson be, sometimes. Especially when he was being adorable with children and baby guitars.  
  
  
 _Let's flap our wings and fly,  
little butterfly friend._  
  
Blaine opened his eyes as he finished and caught Kurt watching him, their eyes locking for a moment. Kurt was the first to look away, feeling a slight blush creeping up his face.  
  
+  
  
Kurt’s insomnia hadn’t gotten much better. He was still only been able to take short naps, falling into a flimsy kind of sleep to wake up again in less than hour, throat tight and brow damp with cold sweat. Falling asleep was the worst. He just couldn’t stop his brain from working, couldn’t settle his thoughts, couldn’t drown out the sharp colours and noises behind his eyelids.  
  
Surprisingly enough, the regular exchange of nippy emails with Blaine was good for that. Maybe it was the late-night reading and staring at the bright screen that lulled him to sleep, but Kurt had been able to slip into dreamland much easier ever since they’d started doing it.  
  
They didn’t email each other every day, per se. But they did it a lot. It had been almost a month now and talking to Pavarotti and answering Blaine’s emails had become a part of Kurt’s bed-time ritual. He would never admit it out loud, but it was just as important as putting on warm socks or perching a glass of water on his night-stand.  
  
That night, however, when he settled into his pillows after checking up on Pavarotti one last time, reaching for his laptop and impatiently waiting for his inbox to load, there was no email waiting for him. Kurt frowned, checking his sent messages to make sure if it really was Blaine’s turn now (it was an unwritten rule that they took turns).  
  
For a split second, Kurt flirted with the thought of throwing that routine off and emailing Blaine himself, but he didn’t want to come off as too needy. He didn’t want to admit he’d gotten used to having Blaine around for the few weeks they’d known each other. He liked their friendship. Blaine might have been a complete self-absorbed idiot most the time and the two of them couldn’t go five minutes without offending each other one way or another, but he was a  _good guy_ . And seeing him sing with the children at the shelter only confirmed that.  
  
He sighed, pushing the laptop away. There was no chance for him to fall asleep tonight, was there.  
  
It was then when he heard a light knocking on his door.  
  
“Yeah?” he called out, intrigued.  
  
“Kurt? There’s a girl who wants to speak to you.” He heard Finn’s voice, then the door opened and a familiar looking blond girl in huge sunglasses and bright yellow sweater came in, holding a giant tabby.  
  
“Hello, I’m Nurse Brittany S. Pierce and this is Mrs. Schrodinger,” she introduced herself, lifting the cat’s paw in a wave.  
  
“Um, yeah, I’m Kurt.” Kurt had to clear his throat twice, not trusting his own voice. He was almost certain he knew what was about to follow.  
  
“Oh, I know,” nodded Brittany, taking off her sunglasses and putting the cat on the floor carefully. Mrs. Schrodinger just stood there for few seconds before she crawled between Kurt’s legs and disappeared into his bedroom. Kurt swore inwardly.  
  
“You’re Kurt Hummel, Blaine’s boy-friend. Not a boyfriend, but just a boy friend. He explained that to me, even though it still doesn’t make much sense,” she shrugged and Kurt’s eyes widened.  
  
“Wait, why doesn’t it make any sense?”  
  
“Because you’re both gay. You can’t be just friends, duh,” she looked at him as if he were crazy.  
  
“That’s actually really offensive, Brittany,” he said slowly, shaking his head. “You know two gay guys can be friends without sleeping with each other, right?”  
  
Brittany frowned a little. “Of course I know gay guys can be friends with each other. But you and Blaine can’t.” She looked at him, her eyes enormous and crazy blue and Kurt gulped.  
  
What?  
  
“Look,” she continued. “Blaine told me to bring you Mrs. Schrodinger and tell you that this was stage two. Whatever that means in your cute dolphin language. I need to go now, but you should know that Mrs. Schrodinger likes to eat plants and drink water from flowerpots. She also likes to sleep in a washing machine sometimes, so always look inside before you turn it on.”  
  
She smiled one more time, pressing a pack of cat food in his hands. And then she left, just like that.  
  
  
+  
  
  
“Ahaa, so you’re calling me now? The medium of internet is not enough for you anymore?”  
  
 _“Yeah, well, I’ve had a difficult night, so I didn’t have time to compose one of those amazing love letters I keep sending you, so...”_  
  
“Amazing love letters. Right, Anderson. You realise that you sent me a detailed description of the surgery you preformed on a chameleon a few days ago, right?”  
  
 _“That was beautiful and you know it.”_  
  
“It was disgusting. Keep your enthusiastic descriptions of chameleon insides to yourself, next time. And I’m not even really that fond of chameleons, to be honest.”  
  
 _“How can you not be fond of chameleons?! They’re such fascinating creatures. But then, you’re not fond of any animals ...besides Pavarotti.”_  
  
“Yeah, speaking of animals I’m not fond of, let’s have a conversation about that ugly ball of fur currently sleeping curled up on my chest.”  
  
 _“Why do you want to discuss that with me? Just go buy some waxing strips.”_  
  
“Very funny, Anderson. I’m being serious. I’m not sure stage two will work. That cat hates me.”  
  
 _“I don’t think so. I can barely hear your voice through her purring, so I think it’s quite the opposite. She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah!”_  
  
“Hold up with the beatlemania, doctor, It’s not funny. It feels like having a sack of potatoes on my ribcage. I can’t even breathe properly.”  
  
 _“Breathing is overrated. And remember Dizzy’s story? She just wants to be close to you. To feel your heartbeat and warmth. Don’t deny her that. Plus, it will help you sleep.”_  
  
“She couldn’t possibly feel my heartbeat through all that fat and fur, believe me. But I think I can feel my ribs touching the mattress. Will you visit me in the hospital if she cracks my spine, Anderson?”  
  
 _“Sure, I will! I’ll even bring you flowers and stuff.”_  
  
“You’ll also pay my hospital bills.”  
  
 _“Deal.”_  
  
“What was so difficult about tonight, anyway? Another chameleo-tomy?”  
  
 _“I wish, haha! But no. This really homophobic guy came to my office and accused me of turning his dog gay.”_  
  
“I beg you a pardon?”  
  
 _“Cross my heart! I kid you not. He was convinced that I, and I quote, infected his dog with my disease while fixing him a few weeks ago. Apparently, Pierre has been actively pursuing every male dog within a close radius of their house.”_  
  
“Well with a name like that, why is he even surprised?”  
  
 _“Ten points to Gryffindor, Hummel. I wanted to say that so bad. But I didn’t want to get punched in the face.”_  
  
“So, what did you say?”  
  
 _“Not much. Only that I myself have a dog and that I don’t think she’s a lesbian. Also, that homosexuality is not a disease and that it’s not contagious and even if it was, it probably wouldn’t be crossing the species barrier. Which was meant to be a joke, by the way. But it was like talking to a rock. And I lose my temper really fast when talking to homophobes, so I just left.”_  
  
“That sucks. Well, at least Pierre found himself, though. What is it with homophobic people being so dumb, though? Wait, why am I even asking that question? Picture me shaking my head violently.”  
  
 _“I am. And to be honest, I’ve been asking myself the same question since I came out. Take my parents, they’re supposed to be smart, or something, yet, they keep asking me when I am going to drop my lifestyle already.”_  
  
“Your parents aren’t supportive? That’s sad. I’m sorry about that.”  
  
 _“Yeah, well. At least my brother is all right with it. As long as I don’t bring anyone to the apartment.”_  
  
“Yeah, I know how you feel. Finn is the same. He never told me not to bring anyone in here, though. But I don’t, because I know how ridiculous could  _that_  get.”  
  
 _“Well, this apartment is Cooper’s actually, so it’s not like I could disobey him. Our relationship is kind of complicated at the moment, so I don’t want to piss him off. I could easily end up sleeping in the office piled up with sick puppies and kittens.”_  
  
“...I though that’s what you did every night...?”  
  
 _“Did you just yawn?”_  
  
“Absolutely not.”  
  
 _“But you did! I can see your tonsils all the way here! Is the cat helping, then?”_  
  
“This giant bag of purring hair? Hardly. No, I think it’s all the work we did at the shelter last night. I’m knackered.”  
  
 _“Admit it, Hummel, it’s the cat. I’m a genius.”_  
  
“Never. Your ego is already so enormous it’s hanging out of the windows. Let’s talk about something else. Tell me why you became a vet.”  
  
 _“Originally, I wanted to be a dog. That didn’t work out. So this was the next best thing. But don’t change the topic, mister. I know you’re falling asleep in there. Stage two is officially working!”_  
  
“‘S not. I’m totally awake.”  
  
 _“No, you’re not. I read your newest column, by the way.”_  
  
“Hmm...”  
  
 _“It was beautiful.”_  
  
“...”  
  
 _“Hummel?”_  
  
“...”  
  
 _“Kurt?”_  
  
“...”  
  
 _“Good night, Kurt.”  
_


	4. Chapter 4

_**I** ’ve always thought I’d be a performer one day. Broadway, I thought. Theatre, I dreamed. Well, it didn’t quite work out, but being a writer for a women’s magazine has its perks. And I’m not only talking about the free skin care products.  
  
You can learn a lot from women. First and foremost, they’re all fantastic performers. They don’t have time to really pretend anything. They perform the role of themselves in this absolutely ridiculous musical show called life with such grace gay men could only dream about, and the rest of men couldn’t even do that. Women stage the hook-ups and break-ups and all the stuff that comes in-between without their partner even noticing that any time has passed at all.  
  
Fall asleep, wake up, fall in love, get married – all the stages. It’s all about the stage.  
  
There’s a difference between pretending and performing._  
  
June 1st 2017 | Kurt Hummel  
  
+  
  
 **Earlier that day:**  
  
It was official; Kurt  _hated_  The Blue Spoon Coffee Co. It wasn’t the shop’s fault, per se. The shop was fine, great even. Lovely exterior (black metal and glass, very classy), cute interior, cute baristas, acceptable coffee... However, for some reason, The Blue Spoon Coffee Co. also happened to be Rachel Berry’s number one New York spot of choice for discussing potentially unpleasant things.  
  
For Kurt, coming to the shop had become something of a Pavlovian reflex. Except instead of salivating to the sound of bell, his stomach would flip and the little tender hairs on the back of his neck would all stand up as soon as he crossed the threshold. He hated discussing potentially unpleasant things. Especially when they were related to him.  
  
“Okay, ladies. Why are we here, again?” He tried to keep up the tight-lipped smile, but he just couldn’t help but scoff a little too.  
  
“Well, to be honest, Kurt, from what I know, you’ve had this coming for a  _long_  time,” said Mercedes with a serious face as she took the little umbrella out of her cocktail, and licked it.  
  
Rachel was nodding next to her so furiously Kurt was almost afraid her head would roll right off of her neck.  
  
He shifted in his chair, fingernails tapping against his cup of coffee (his second, already). He hadn’t gotten as much sleep as he had been hoping to last night and his thoughts were all over the place, which might have to do something with the fabulous pair of Paul Smith boots Mrs. Schrodinger had chewed up for breakfast that morning.  
  
“What do I have coming?” He raised one eyebrow. “And is it really so important Mercedes had to come all the way down from LA to, what; ...interrogate me?”  
  
“It’s about Blaine Anderson,” Rachel finally exploded, taking a large gulp of water from her glass before continuing. “This is a Blaine-vention. Look, Kurt, I know you like being a little bit unconventional when it comes to relationships, but the game you and Blaine are playing is seriously confusing everybody around you, including Blaine and yourself, I’m sure. So I decided to have a word with you and I called Mercedes, because you threw salt and pepper shakers at me the last time.”  
  
Kurt’s eyebrows shot up for the second time. He remembered that time. He’d had a good reason that time. Rachel Berry had been lucky not to have the napkin holder in her face as well that time.  
  
“A game? I wasn’t even aware we were playing a game,” he said finally.  
  
“Are you serious?” Rachel shook her head. “Come on, Kurt. You and Blaine spend so much time together, it’s ridiculous. You exchange emails almost every night, you go clothes shopping together, you call each other before sleep...” She paused to emphasize her point.  
  
“So, are you, like, stalking me now? Because last time I checked, what I do in my personal free time is none of your business. And also, how do you know about the late night calls?”  
  
Rachel shrugged. “I have my sources.”  
  
Kurt sighed. “That’s it. I’m putting Finn on a cookie-free diet for a whole week for this. The traitor.”  
  
“All right, hold up for a second, both of you!” Mercedes finally interrupted, rolling her eyes. “First, Rachel, shut up. Second, I’m here to do some promotional work for my new album anyway, so don’t sweat it, Kurt. Now to the point. From what Rachel’s told me about Dr. I Talk To Animals McHotpants, I really can’t see your angle, Kurt. Why aren’t you getting all up on that?”  
  
Kurt couldn’t believe his ears. “What do you mean? Blaine Anderson and I are just friends. And it’s a miracle we even got there, believe me! We can barely stand each other’s presence.”  
  
He just had to laugh. Because... seriously? Yeah, he and Blaine had been emailing each other for two months now, exchanging smart-ass comments about animal behaviour and inventive insults and Kurt also held temporary custody of Blaine’s canary and cat, but there was nothing else.  
  
Was there.  
  
They were still just friends.  _Who disliked each other_ , Kurt added in his mind, smirking a little at the thought.  
  
“See?!” Rachel squealed. “He’s smiling! He was thinking about Blaine! Kurt and Blaine sitting in a tree-”  
  
“Rachel, I warn you. You finish that sentence and I will tie you to an actual tree and leave you there as a midnight snack for the fire ants. I hear they’re very hungry this season.”  
  
“Well, here’s something I want to know. Can two hot gay guys be just friends?” Mercedes asked, swallowing a spoonful of her blueberry ice-cream.  
  
“Of course they can,” Kurt shot back immediately. He was really sick of that attitude already. First Blaine’s nurse Brittany, who was so sweet and beautifully non-understanding about the whole thing Kurt didn’t have the heart to leash out on her, but now his high-school best friends, too? Well, fuck that!  
  
“Ok, I admit that he’s attractive. However, he’s also an asshole. There’s a reason why we’re such good friends. We hate each other, so we’re pretty much honest to each other. No promises, no regrets, no apologies. It’s actually a very freeing relationship, friendship... ship thing,” he added, finishing his coffee.  
  
“But I’m sure Blaine likes you, Kurt,” Rachel spoke up, looking up at him from beneath her bangs with big sincere eyes.  
  
Kurt chuckled darkly, throwing some money on the table. He then stood up and buttoned up his cardigan, swinging his satchel over his shoulder.  
  
“You really think so? Well I guess his hatred must have fooled me, then.”  
  
He winked at Mercedes before leaving the shop, the sound of the bell on the door making him wince as he slipped through.  
  
+  
  
 **From:**  Kurt Hummel  
 **To:**  Dr. Blaine Anderson, BVSc  
 **Subject:**  darkslategrey  
  
Hey, Andervet!  
  
I had THE worst morning and afternoon ever. First, your cat got possessed by the devil and took it out on my favourite shoes (I’m sending you the bill, by the way), then Rachel and Mercedes lost their sanity and dragged me to the worst coffee shop in NYC to interrogate me about my non-existent love life, and then I had a meeting with Sue (my boss from the magazine) who told me my columns were getting mellow.  
  
“Mellow”, Anderson. That’s a words I would never use in relation to my writing, EVER. Well, along with “cute”, “moving” and “jocular” (because that’s a terrible word). Words you can never use as an insult and sound really trashy as compliments are pointless in this society; mark my words.  
  
Also, I couldn’t get any sleep last night. In the end, I only got one whole hour. Which is weird, because I’ve been doing so much better lately. It might have been because my mind was really preoccupied, but idk, I think I’m losing it (also the cat doesn’t purr anymore. I think it’s broken. Come and fix it).  
  
Did you know there are eight different shades of grey? Seriously, they’re even named. One of them is called DarkSlateGrey and that’s exactly where my brain is at this point. I get so bored at night I’ve started reading Wikipedia, that’s how far this whole insomnia thing has gone.  
  
Speaking of roaming the internet, Finn showed me this last night on YouTube and it made me think of you:  
  
<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nHlJODYBLKs>  
  
I remember you mentioning you had a dog on the phone. Did you teach it to stand on a bucket, Anderson? I hear bucketing is the new planking.  
  
Woof woof,  
K.H.  
  
  
P.S. If you see Rachel looking at you funny anytime soon, just turn around and calmly walk away.  
  
-  
  
 **From:**  Dr. Blaine Anderson, BVSc  
 **To:** Kurt Hummel  
 **Subject:**  is Rachel a rattlesnake?  
  
Hi, Kurt!  
  
I agree with your boss, you ARE getting a little bit mellow. I read your last column over breakfast and it didn’t make me choke on my croissant and snort coffee out of my nose as usual. Disappointing. Maybe your brain-abs need a little work-out.  
  
I love how you spelled gray with an “e”. It reminds me of my college years. Well, university years. I actually studied vet science in Britain, have I ever told you that? It was awesome. Heck, do I miss the place.  
  
One hour of sleep? You must be completely fucked up by now! I know you’re already tried of all the old tricks, but have you tried jerking off right before sleep? To, you know, wear yourself out.  
  
That video you sent me was fabulous (and I liked the music, too). I wish I had enough dogs to actually do that myself. Alas, I only have one, and Polka is very lazy when it comes to tricks. Believe me, I’m happy she learnt “sit”.  
  
Paws up!  
Blaine  
  
  
P.S. The cat is not broken. She’s just too lazy to even purr anymore. Maybe your brain-abs isn’t the only thing needing a little exercise.  
  
  
-  
  
  
 **From:**  Kurt Hummel  
 **To:**  Dr. Blaine Anderson, BVSc  
 **Subject:** You named your dog Polka?  
  
Why am I even asking that. You’re the man with the collection of old pocket watches.  
  
I’m picturing you sitting in an old leather armchair dressed in a burgundy monogrammed robe, smoking a pipe with your Polka-dog laying by the fireplace and Mrs. Schrodinger sitting on your lap while you run your fingernails through her fur, laughing viciously. That is if the cat can fit on there. You might have to lie on *her*. But then the fantasy wouldn’t look as cool.  
  
That said, I bet the boys ate your whole pocket watch thing up in England. I’m still disappointed you didn’t tell me sooner, by the way. All these wasted opportunities to call you a wanker! (I’m looking up other British insults on Urban Dictionary as I type.)  
  
Speaking of, I can’t believe you suggested I’d do... *that*. We haven’t even known each other that long. I know we go vegetable-shopping together, but this is a little more out of my comfort zone than salad cucumbers.  
  
As for Rachel, you don’t want to know the details, believe me. Just try to avoid her for few weeks, it will blow off.  
  
Cheerio!  
K.H.  
  
P.S. *All* of my abs are perfectly fine, thank you very much. Pillock.  
  
-  
  
 **From:**  Dr. Blaine Anderson, BVSc  
 **To:**  Kurt Hummel  
 **Subject:**  How did you know about the robe?  
  
Believe it or not, but English boys were not the only ones. Boys from NYC must like *my whole pocket watch thing*, as you put it, as well, because I’ve got a date tonight. His name is Jarvis, he’s in real estate, and apparently, he’s also real hot. My friend Nick thinks we could hit it off.  
  
I hope I won’t have to hit *Nick* after tonight. I have bad experience with blind dates. Remind me to tell you about the man with passion for chess. (I fell asleep in my shiitake mushrooms. It was humiliating. I’m sure you’d love to hear all about it.)  
  
Don’t be such a prude, Hummel. You do it, I do it, everybody does it. You didn’t need to drag cucumbers into the conversation.  
  
Keep your fingers crossed for me, ok?  
Blaine  
  
P.S. It was either Disco or Polka. But shouting out “Disco” in Central Park didn’t seem like such a bright idea.  
  
-  
  
Kurt took off his reading glasses and closed the laptop, sliding it further away on the duvet, taking a moment to digest what he’d just read.  
  
It wasn’t as much about the fact that Blaine Anderson had a date tonight... it was more about the fact that  _Blaine Anderson_  had a date tonight.  
  
How desperate would a guy have to be to go out with Blaine? Kurt giggled to himself. Well, Jarvis didn’t know what he was getting himself into, obviously. Kurt couldn’t imagine just any guy having the guts to deal with Blaine’s snark. This whole thing would probably end in tears, and, if Kurt was very lucky, in his next column.  
  
He couldn’t help but wonder, though. Were Blaine, Rachel and Mercedes onto something? No way in hell he’d ever admit he liked Blaine, but maybe it was time to start looking around a bit more, as well. As much as he enjoyed being alone and as much as he enjoyed the company of Pavarotti and Mrs. Schrodinger, they were times, particularly when he lay in bed and couldn’t fall asleep, when he imagined the perfect guy, the perfect date and dreamed up a perfect wedding for himself... He may be a cynic, but deep down, he was also a great romantic, which was another thing he’d never admit.  
  
Kurt had been forced to repress that part of his personality shortly after he’d moved to New York. It didn’t help that the only actual relationship he’d ever had was with a closeted guy from a rival high-school show choir. It didn’t last long, as Alex broke up with him the minute they beat them at regionals. Turned out he liked the shine of a first-place-trophy better than Kurt.  
  
Ever since then, it had only been fleeting romances and flings.  
  
Kurt signed, scratching Mrs. Schrodinger behind her ear, smiling when she finally started purring again.  
  
“See? Now we’re talkin’!”  
  
He reached for the laptop.  
  
-  
  
 **From:**  Kurt Hummel  
 **To:**  Dr. Blaine Anderson, BVSc  
 **Subject:**  I never really cared for chess either, tbh  
  
Who is this Nick character, anyway? You’ve never mentioned him before. Is he single? Rachel and Mercedes seem to think I should start dating again. You know. To wear myself out. Great minds think alike, apparently.  
  
So what if I’m a little conservative? And FYI, no. I haven’t tried it. I haven’t been in the mood lately. For the last 8 months, to be exact. There. And that’s enough over-sharing.  
  
Enjoy your date, Anderson. I hope it goes all wrong, so I can mock you afterwards.  
K.H.  
  
P.S. As long as you didn’t name her Macarena...  
  
+  
  
“Hello, this is Kurt Hummel speaking.”  
  
 _“...why so formal? Don’t you look at the display before picking up?”_  
  
“Anderson? Why are you calling me at... hold on... 2 AM? Are you crazy?! And no, I like a little excitement in my life.”  
  
 _“Well, then I’m certainly calling the right man. I need your help. Now. And don’t get all huffy on me, I know you weren’t sleeping.”_  
  
“I could have been, you know. I told you I’ve been doing much better. Anyway, what do you need?”  
  
 _“I’m having a bad date and I need you to get me out of here.”_  
  
“Excuse me while I laugh for a while. Why aren’t I surprised? What is it? The real estate agent wasn’t real hot, after all?”  
  
 _“Try real asshole.”_  
  
“That bad, huh?”  
  
 _“Worse. I’ve been hiding in the little boys room for the past 10 minutes.”_  
  
“That’s rather fitting, don’t you think?”  
  
 _“No time for height jokes, Hummel. I have to go there and face him soon or he’ll think I’m having a digestive malfunction. Which, now that I think about it, is not a bad idea at all.”_  
  
“Ok, calm down. No need to go that low. What do you want me to do?”  
  
 _“Just call me in 5 minutes, I’ll take care of the rest, ok?”_  
  
“Ok.”  
  
-  
  
 _“Hello, this is Blaine Anderson speaking.”_  
  
“Now you’re just mocking me, though.”  
  
 _“Oh my goodness! Really? How is she? Did you take her temperature?”_  
  
“Well, this interesting. Although I feel used. Will I feel dirty afterwards, Anderson?”  
  
 _“No, it’s fine, just don’t panic, ok? I’ll be right there. Bye!”_  
  
“Well, that was fun.”  
  
-  
  
“What now?!”  
  
 _“Now you are checking the display!”_  
  
“Yeah, I think I’ve had enough adrenaline for one night. What. Do. You. Want.“  
  
 _“To say thank you.”_  
  
“That’s nice. You’re welcome. Now hang up and leave me at peace, please.”  
  
 _“You were not sleeping, Hummel.”_  
  
“No, but I should have been. This is not an hour for calling people, you know. I thought you had manners.”  
  
 _“Well, I’m finally home and I’m just changing out of my wine-stained clothes... and I’m still hungry.”_  
  
“You didn’t even get to eat? And wait... are you calling me naked?”  
  
 _“Are you serious? We didn’t get through the appetizers. And no, I’m not naked. I’m just not wearing any clothes.”_  
  
“Isn’t that against some sort of law to call your friends naked?”  
  
 _“Not as far as I’m concerned, no.”_  
  
“Well, it should be! I’m deeply disturbed. Anyway... why are you calling again?”  
  
 _“I’m still hungry and you’re the only person I know that’s awake at this hour on Thursday night.”_  
  
“O-ho-ho, no way in hell I’m getting out of my bed anytime soon, Anderson, forget it.”  
  
 _“Please. I’m begging you. I can’t go out for dinner alone and I can’t order in either, because Cooper’s already asleep and our apartment is teeny. It’d wake him up. He’s a bitch when he doesn’t get his beauty sleep.“_  
  
“Mmm... all right, let me think about it. No.”  
  
 _“I’ll tell you all about my bad date. I’ll pay for the food. I’ll let you laugh at me. You can even take a picture of that wine stain on my shirt. Please, Kurt.”_  
  
“Oh for fuck’s sake! Meet me in front of my building in fifteen minutes?”  
  
 _“You’re the bestest of the best that ever bested, have anyone ever told you that?”_  
  
“No, I’m quite positive you’re the first.”  
  
+  
  
“This place better be worth it, Anderson. I had to pull out my emergency outfit because of you,” Kurt grumbled, wrapping himself more firmly in his pea-coat as they crossed the road.  
  
“I have no idea, as I’ve never been here,” shrugged Blaine, taking in the red building. “Nick recommended it, though. Plus, they’re open ’round the clock.”  
  
Kurt let out a bitter laugh.  
  
“Well, if Nick’s taste in restaurants is as good as his taste in men, we’re kind of screwed, don’t you think?”  
  
The place, Apple Restaurant, turned out to be quite nice in the end; spacious and full of light, with cute little tables and abstract art on the walls. Kurt and Blaine settled by the bar with a bottle of white wine.  
  
Kurt noticed Blaine was still dressed for his date, having merely changed to a clean shirt. He looked very preppy with his knitted vest and little red bowtie, black pants and boat shoes. Kurt had to wonder where somebody like Blaine even picked up on a style like this. His hair was neither gel-free, nor completely slicked back, but it was tame, curling slightly over his forehead. He looked good and he knew it. The bastard.  
  
Kurt’s emergency outfit consisted of simple pair of blue skinny jeans and a black vest over a white shirt, all topped with his brand new pair of black chucks (he loved the smell of new chucks). His hair was a bloody mess, but he was quite sure the artsy types in the Apple Restaurant thought it was a new hairstyle trend. All in all, he was satisfied. He didn’t look quite as preppy as Blaine, but at least he looked his actual age and not like a fabulous grandpa.  
  
Blaine ended up ordering Buddha Delight, shovelling pieces of tofu and cauliflower into his mouth so fast his hand became a blur.  
  
“I’m sorry, but I was really hungry,” he managed to say between the bites, but Kurt just waved him off, rolling his eyes.  
  
“Knock yourself out. Bad dates can be very stressful. Last time I went on a blind date, I ended up devouring three cheesecakes. True story.”  
  
Blaine pulled a shocked face.  
  
“Kurt Hummel! I can’t believe that!”  
  
Kurt laughed, feeling his cheeks flush a bit.  
  
“Yeah, well, that was one particularly petrifying date. He was trying to feel me up under the table and when I politely declined his generous offer to you-know-what-me in public, he got really pissed. Then he asked me if I’d at least you-know-what- _him_  so the date would be worth his cab fare. Needless to say I got out of the restaurant pretty fast.”  
  
“Wow,” whistled Blaine, obviously impressed. “That’s even worse than my chess-guy story. And I ended up with greasy Chinese all over my face, so that was a high bar. Also, I see you weren’t kidding, you really are conservative when you can’t even say ‘blowjob’.”  
  
Kurt decided to ignore that last remark.  
  
“See? It’s all awful. That’s why I’ve stopped believing in blind dates since then. Or in dates, period. Or in love.” He shrugged, taking another sip of his wine.  
  
“What  _does_  Kurt Hummel believe in, then?” Asked Blaine, tapping his lips with a napkin.  
  
Kurt smirked.  
  
“Well, that’s easy. Friendship, full batteries, Broadway and glitter.”  
  
Blaine chuckled, searching in Kurt’s face for a moment, his hazel eyes all huge and glassy from the wine.  
  
“Was that by any chance your senior quote?”  
  
“Guilty,” laughed Kurt, draining the rest of his drink. “What was yours?”  
  
“I'm not lost for I know where I am. But however, where I am may be lost.”  
  
“Now  _that’s_  impressive. Who is that? JFK?”  
  
“No. That’s Winnie the Pooh.”  
  
They burst out laughing at the same time, giggling uncontrollably and earning few dirty glares from the bartender.  
  
“Are you serious?!” Kurt squealed, still half laughing. “I can’t believe you.”  
  
“Hey, don’t say that. I loved that book. It was the only real childhood memento I took with me when I went to boarding school,” Blaine pointed out, slurring his way through his words a little. “I still have it, actually.”  
  
“Aww,” Kurt couldn’t help but coo. “Boarding school, though. Explains your outfit.”  
  
“Best years of my life. I had everything then. I was the lead singer of my glee club and I had the perfect boyfriend... or so I thought,” he paused, spinning the glass between his fingers. Then he shook his head as if he were shaking off the bad memories. “Give us another bottle of that, would you,” he told the bartender.  
  
“Well, if it’s any consolation to you,” started Kurt, taking a deep breath, “I was in glee club in high-school, too, and it was great. I was never the lead singer...” he smiled, clearing his throat. “That would be Rachel and Finn... But I loved it. And I had the perfect boyfriend, too. Or so I thought.”  
  
Their eyes met across the wine glasses and they both sighed at the same time.  
  
“You realise this is seriously fucked up,” Blaine finally said, chuckling a little. Kurt nodded. There was nothing much to say.  
  
“Well, screw this,” Blaine spoke up again, grabbing the bottle and sliding off his chair. “Let’s take this downstairs. I hear their karaoke machine is awesome.”  
  
“No, Anderson. I told you I didn’t sing!” Kurt put his hands on his hips, scoffing.  
  
“You’re full of shit, that’s what you are. You just admitted to me you used to be in glee club. So get your ass downstairs, climb on the stage and sing with me.”  
  
-  
  
The look in Blaine’s eyes must have been really determined and the wine really getting into Kurt’s head, because otherwise, he would have never ended up on a stage of the Apple Restaurant karaoke room, providing very tipsy back-up vocals to Blaine’s piss drunk rendition of Maroon 5’s Misery. They practically giggled their way through the last chorus, falling over each other by the end of the song, the tacky disco-ball hanging from the ceiling throwing tiny blinks of light on their faces.  
  
“That was actually really good! We sound really good together, you know. Let’s quit our jobs and become the new Everly Brothers.”  
  
Kurt snorted and shook his head sloppily.  
  
“I don’t even know who that is. Plus, you love being a vet! You love animals and you wanted to be a dog, remember?”  
  
“Yeah, I forgot about that,” laughed Blaine, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “It’s your turn, now.”  
  
Kurt looked down at Blaine, taking in his shiny eyes and sweaty skin and excited expression... and yeah, he was definitely too drunk to turn him down.  
  
“You know what, give me that,” he said, yanking the mike out of Blaine’s grasp. “This is gonna be THE performance of your life, Anderson,” he slurred and made his way to the karaoke machine, smirking to himself. “Watch and learn, prep boy!”  
  
Blaine started laughing again  [as soon as he heard the first few notes](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ziML5uMRT2M)  and recognized the song, giving Kurt thumbs up for his choice as he leaned against the wall to listen.  
  
 _If anyone was headed for the gates of hell I know you'd be first.  
I used to picture your obituary and I wished you the worst.  
The danger of the playground. The radio said you drowned.  
And I'm sorry, almost. Almost sorry._  
  
Kurt was very fond of Scissor Sisters, for obvious reasons, but he also genuinely loved the music. He had never gotten the chance to sing any of their songs in glee club, but they were his favourite to belt out in the shower, particularly when Finn wasn’t home and couldn’t question him on it.  
  
Kurt swayed his hips, grabbing the mike in his both hands, resisting the urge to close his eyes and pretend that this wasn’t just some silly drunken karaoke but that he was really performing. He could feel Blaine’s stare burning his skin.  
  
 _No sympathy is given to the perpetrator charged with the crime.  
I'm willing to admit that it feels good to be a victim sometimes.  
I won't ever get to thank you for the terrible things you said.  
I'm sorry, almost, that you're-_  
  
  
As the chorus kicked in, Blaine joined him in a harmony, skipping next to him on a stage with a wide smile, making Kurt smile in return as they shouted the lines at each other.  
  
  
 _-dead to the world, where I hoped you would be.  
I never imagined you'd live on in me.  
You gave me destination, but I paid for the ride.  
The place you punched my ticket left a crater inside.  
Where I cried._  
  
  
Kurt couldn’t believe how much fun he was having. This was much better than rolling back and forth in bed, trying to fall asleep, tearing his hair out, because it was driving him insane. Blaine and he did sound great together, as a matter of fact. What were the odds of two high-school gay glee club members with similar boyfriend pasts meeting in New York City, anyway?  
  
Actually, if Kurt weren’t so drunk and though about it, he’d have decided that the probability was actually pretty high... but he was drunk. He was having fun. With his friend. Whom he severely disliked. And it was  _amazing_ .  
  
  
 _Where I cried from the bruises, learned to live with the scars.  
Now you live in the mirror. When I look, there you are.  
You're the shadow on the faces of the people I meet.  
Have you claimed eternal shotgun in my passenger seat?  
Well, I'm sorry, almost. Almost sorry._  
  
The song was almost done and Kurt realised he never wanted it to end. He loved this restaurant. He loved this karaoke room. He loved the song.  
  
He looked over at Blaine and found him staring back, panting, eyes comically big, cheeks all red from all the skipping he’d be doing.  
  
And as they stared at each other, the last lines of Almost Sorry ringing above their heads, he thought,  _fuck it_ .  
  
They lunged at each other, lips crashing, noses knocking, eyelashes brushing against cheeks. Kurt drew a deep breath, arms wrapping around Blaine’s thin frame, fingers grabbing at the fabric of his vest as Blaine’s fingers tangled in his hair.  
  
 _Sometimes the best design is done by damage.  
The accident concedes.  
A rainbow still looks pretty when it bleeds._


	5. Chapter 5

**_S_** _omething tells me I picked the wrong city to have trouble sleeping in. Well, it was actually my dad who pointed out it might not be a good idea trying to cure my insomnia in “The City That Never Sleeps.” He also pointed out that maybe I should move to “The City That Never Wakes Up.” He thought he was being cute. I’ll have to have a word with my step-mom. I knew all along their marriage was just part of one big conspiracy against my person.  
Just so you know, I have lived in “The City That Never Wakes Up” (aka Lima, Ohio) for 18 years. I went to high-school where the football coach suggested that we haul hay to make us stronger and the cheerleading coach’s entire wardrobe consisted of tracksuits.  
  
Did you know that roe deer actually  **bark**  while courting does?  
  
BECAUSE I DO  
  
So next time you feel like suggesting I go cure my sleep issues back in the Midwest, don’t._  
  
June 2nd 2017 | Kurt Hummel  
  
+  
  
 **Earlier that day:**  
  
Hangover.  
  
The. Worst. Way. To wake up. Ever.  
  
Like, you can’t even joke about that stuff. Kurt dared people to argue with the fact that it was a weapon created to wipe the human race off the Earth surface.  
  
He was never going to drink again, ever.  
  
Kurt sat up in his bed, screwing his eyes shut for a moment, willing the room to stop spinning. His mouth was dry, his hands were shaky and he was sure he had glitter in his hair and for some reason in his underwear, as well.  
  
He checked his phone. 10:40, two missed calls from Finn and one text from Rachel demanding to know where he was last night.  
Kurt struggled to swallow. Where  _had_  he been last night?  
  
It wasn’t coming back yet. He needed coffee in his blood stream and he needed it now. He needed it so bad he was tempted to just pop open the nearest box of instant coffee and pour it into his mouth just like that.  
  
Pavarotti’s cage was still covered and Kurt felt a pang of guilt for leaving the poor bird in darkness with no food the whole morning.  
“I’m sorry, bird; apparently, I can’t hold my liquor,” he rasped, pulling the burberry fabric off.  
  
Pavarotti sat on his perch all ruffled up, looking Kurt straight in the face with his beady eyes. He was visibly pissed.  _Just great_ , thought Kurt as he pulled his pyjama top over his head.  
  
Which was when Pavarotti started chirping.  
  
It felt like Kurt’s brain had imploded in his head and was now leaking out of his ears. Or like somebody was hammering nails through his temples. Kurt whined, resisting the urge to put the cover back on the cage, because that would probably classify as violence against animals and Blaine would then have his head, if they ever...  
  
 _Oh._  Oh, wait.  
  
Now he remembered.  
And yep, he was pretty much screwed.  
  
-  
  
When Kurt finally entered the living room that morning, all showered, dressed and shaved (it took him a long time to get dressed just because he had to try three times before he got his sweater on the right way, as in not inside-out and backwards), Rachel and Finn were already occupying the sofa, digging into their bowls of cereal in absolute (and rather awkward) silence.  
Finn’s head perked up when he heard Kurt enter the room. “You’re here? I thought that lump under your blanket was just dirty laundry!”  
  
“You know, Finn, I think you were right. It  _was_  a dirty laundry,” snapped Rachel (and whoa, sarcastic Rachel in the morning was never a good sign), setting down her bowl on the coffee table and crossing her arms over her chest. Finn’s eyes widened as he looked back and forth between Kurt and Rachel, obviously confused.  
  
“I’d defend myself, but I feel like crap and I haven’t had my coffee yet,” said Kurt, plopping down on the sofa next to Finn and taking a sip from his mug.  
  
There, better.  
  
“Are you going to tell us where you were last night?” Rachel finally spoke up again. Kurt sighed.  
  
“I’d rather forget all about it, thank you very much,” he moaned, putting his face in his hands.  
  
“Oh, come on, give me more than that! I was worried sick!”  
  
“But you were at your apartment and you only found out I wasn’t here all night when Finn told you this morning.”  
  
“So? I was worried sick for a full hour in here; that must count for something!” She exclaimed, her bangs bouncing on her forehead as she wildly gesticulated with her hands.  
  
Kurt sighed again. He didn’t want to talk about it. Saying it out loud would just make it real. He didn’t want it to be real. Actually, he still held some kind of hope within himself, that it was all just a dream. But then, the hangover was more than real, as was the tingling on his lips.  
  
“I was out with Blaine,” he finally mumbled, reaching for Finn’s mug to down the rest of the cold coffee, grimacing at the bad taste.  
Rachel’s high-pitched squeal cut into his head like a hatchet.  
  
“That’s so exciting! You were out together all night? I knew you would eventually get over yourselves and jump each other!”  
  
“Rachel Barbra Berry!” Kurt’s eyes widened. “I’ve never heard you speak like that before,” he shook his head, mock scandalized.  
  
“And no. We did not, in any sense of the word,  _jump_  each other. He called me to get him out of a bad date and then we went for dinner because he was still hungry and I couldn’t sleep.”  
  
“That’s so romantic,” sighed Rachel, nudging Finn with her elbow as he munched on his cereal. “Isn’t it romantic, Finn? He practically fought over him with another man! This is like the movies, a real love triangle!”  
  
“Oh no, no, no, no, Rachel. No. Love triangle with Blaine? Are you insane? We’re not even on the same wavelength! We're more like two points on completely separate parallel lines that go on ‘til infinity but never intersect.”  
  
Finn giggled.  
  
“Blaine and I are just friends,” Kurt added for a good measure. He couldn’t help but hear the uncertain tone of his own voice, though. This was bad.  
  
“Well,” Rachel cleared her throat and gave him a serious look. “Some very reliable gossip tells me Blaine might have a little crush on you!”  
  
Now it was Kurt’s turn to stare. What?  
  
“What?” he said out loud.  
  
Rachel’s smile widened. “I was taking Spaghetti to Dr. Blaine last week for his regular lung check-up - you have to do that with guinea pigs because they’re very prone to respiratory infections - and Brittany, the nurse, told me that Blaine was totally doodling hearts with your name all over his notebook.  
  
Kurt snorted.  
  
“Brittany is hardly a reliable source, Rachel. Last time I called her because I needed to know how to get the first draft of a newspaper column out of cat’s throat, she squeaked at me the whole time because she thought I knew dolphin language, so calm down.”  
  
Rachel shrugged. “All I’m saying is he wants you. It’s obvious you like him too. We went through this yesterday.”  
  
Kurt growled inwardly, letting it slide. “Where is Mrs. Schrodinger, anyway? I should feed her so she doesn’t eat any more of my work.”  
  
Finn swallowed a large portion of his breakfast and pointed towards the kitchen.  
  
“Last time I saw her she was sleeping on your laptop.”  
  
-  
  
 **From:**  Dr. Blaine Anderson, BVSc  
 **To:**  Kurt Hummel  
 **Subject:**  dobraje utra  
  
Cooper woke me up today by sitting down on my head and turning on Good Morning America at the highest volume possible. I told him it was violating the dead. He told me I was a dirty drunken dumbass. I told him it was only 8:30 and he’d already over-used the letter D.  
  
Then my dog started howling.  
  
I really should start looking for my own place. The couch is too small for me and all of my musical instruments and animals, even though some of them are currently in your custody. Plus, my head needs time to get back into its original shape and that won’t happen with my brother’s bulbous ass in a close proximity.  
  
I hope your morning went better than mine.  
Blaine  
  
PS: Don’t use any caps if you write back, please. My head hurts like bitch.  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
 **From:**  Kurt Hummel  
 **To:** Dr. Blaine Anderson, BVSc  
 **Subject:** re: dobraje utra  
  
I hear that, brother. My head feels like it’s wrapped in bubble-wrap and somebody keeps popping it every time I move. I don’t do well with hangovers. I’m never drinking again.  
  
Was your subject in Russian? I told you I don’t like it when you speak that language. I don’t understand anything except “vodka”.  
For all I know, you could be saying naughty stuff to me the whole time.  
  
Your brother sounds lovely. I hope I never meet him. His ass on the other hand...  
  
So he only gave you the couch? You live there? With all your animals and instruments? That must be one hell of a couch then.  
Well, I suppose if you don’t decide to take up tuba, you’ll be ok. Especially without the cat. She’d need at least two more couches, anyway.  
  
I knew you giving me your pets was just a nasty trick to get rid of them. You’re a bad person.  
  
Toodles!  
K.H.  
  
PS: Are we going to talk about it at all?  
  
-  
  
 **From:** Dr. Blaine Anderson, BVSc  
 **To:** Kurt Hummel  
 **Subject:** it’s too early for naughty  
  
I think my liver didn’t expect that amount of wine last night. Silly liver. Remind me to never listen to Maroon 5 ever again, please.  
I’m afraid my brother’s ass is very straight. Well, not literally. The outlines are rather curvy. The point is, it has to stay in your dreams.  
  
Well, he couldn’t possibly have given me the guest room. “That’s where I keep my weights and treadmill, Blaine, there’s not enough space for you in there.” I guess he has an extra room for his ego as well. Or maybe he keeps that where his brain used to be.  
  
The couch is fine. It’s a fold-out. Right now it’s just me, Polka, my guitar and my fish. I spend most of my time in the office, anyway.  
  
You got me. That was my evil plan all along. One day you’ll wake up with *all* of us in your bed and you won’t even have noticed.  
  
Blaine  
  
PS: Um… Do *you* want to talk about it? Do we *need* to talk about it?  
  
  
-  
  
 **From:**  Kurt Hummel  
 **To:** Dr. Blaine Anderson, BVSc  
 **Subject:** I wanted to write “It’s never too early for naughty” but that’s your line  
  
Tbh, I don’t understand why you started listening to them in first place. Your musical taste astounds me, in a bad way. You come across as a guy who would only buy vinyl. For a man who collects old pocket watches, you sure listen to a lot of top 40.  
  
What about your little guitar, then? You could probably keep that in your purse, though.  
  
You keep fish, Anderson? Don’t even THINK about giving me fish, I’m warning you. I have my hands full with your other animals, and frankly, it’s getting harder and harder. I thought Pavarotti was about to turn into an actual Angry Bird and attack me this morning. And as for the cat, it keeps sleeping on my laptop and no tweezers in this apartment are small enough to get the cat hair out of the keyboard.  
  
I think I would notice if you were in my bed. Especially if you shed as much as your cat.  
  
K.H.  
  
PS: YES, we need to talk about it. Do I want to? No. But we just... ugh... damn it. I can’t do this over email. Are you free tonight?  
  
-  
  
  
 **From:** Dr. Blaine Anderson, BVSc  
 **To:** Kurt Hummel  
 **Subject:** my hair is in perfect condition  
  
I can’t tonight. I have this thing. That I have to go to. It’s obligatory. The thing. But we’ll talk about it later if that’s really what you want. I’m not saying I understand why we need to discuss it at all, but I’ll do it so your sleep won’t be ruined. Well, in as much as we can call what you do sleep.  
  
I’m not giving you the fish. Mark and Spencer have been there for me when times were really bad. I’m kind of attached to them. That, and you can’t take fish-tank into a cab.  
  
I know this may come as a surprise to you, but I don’t own a single vinyl album. Shocked? My dad has a whole shelf dedicated to  
The Beach Boys though, if you’re interested. I swear he has more than 5 copies of Pet Sounds. I’m not all that much into 60s music, but that album has always spoken to me.  
  
See you eventually!  
Blaine  
  
-  
  
 **From:** Kurt Hummel  
 **To:** Dr. Blaine Anderson, BVSc  
 **Subject:** if you were 70s disco dancer maybe  
  
You’re a coward, that’s what you are. We should be able to sit down and talk about what happened like adults. But no, Dr. Blaine Anderson, BVSc, is too busy.  
  
Assuming that “thing” isn’t made up... how about after you’re done? You know I won’t be sleeping yet, so don’t hesitate to call. You sure as hell didn’t last night.  
  
The 60s were the best, how dare you suggest otherwise! Your father has class. I myself prefer The Beatles, but The Beach Boys are great. Why would you need Pet Sounds on vinyl when you get a live performance every day?  
  
Seriously. Call me tonight or I’m shaving your cat.  
K.H.  
  
-  
  
Kurt shut down the laptop, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. His head was throbbing and he was pissed. Pissed at Blaine Anderson and his stupid cheeky emails and cute curly hair. He hoped Blaine would call tonight, because he really needed to talk it over. Last night was crazy. It already felt so alien to him when he recalled the memories, like it had happened to somebody else.  
  
But he remembered it well now. Despite the haze of alcohol. He remembered his fingers tugging at those curls while his other hand fisted the material of Blaine’s sweater-vest. Blaine’s strong arms pressing him against the restaurant wall as he kissed Kurt,  _deep_  and invasive. The taste of his mouth was intoxicating. It was sweet like the wine with a hint of apple, which made Kurt giggle, because they  _were_  in the Apple Restaurant, after all.  
  
He remembered the last few guests in the restaurant clapping and whistling tipsily as he and Blaine snogged on the karaoke stage like they couldn’t get enough of each other. He remembered the tugging in his stomach and the warmth of Blaine’s body pressed firmly against his.  
  
Kurt blushed at the memory. It felt so weird now. Figures, that the one disadvantage of being sober was knowing exactly how you felt. And Kurt did feel weird. And confused. And a little bit embarrassed.  
  
He thought about what he’d told Rachel. Blaine and he were friends. Who disliked each other. Or that’s what they used to be, anyway. What were they now, then? Friends who made out with each other when they got drunk and didn’t want to talk about it sober, apparently.  
  
He was letting out a long, calming breath when his phone beeped on his bed, startling the cat and making her roll right off the bed in shock.  
  
Kurt giggled as he slid his finger across the screen.  
  
-  
  
It was a text from Santana instructing Kurt to not ask any questions, put on his party dress, down few cups of coffee and pick her up at her place in a cab. He was in no mood to argue with Santana Lopez, so he did just that. He could use a way to kill time ‘til The Awkward Call, as he titled it in his head.  
  
Santana lived in Brooklyn, and she loved it. Kurt wasn’t as fond of the place as she was, since every time he went there, people kept shouting at him in languages he didn’t understand, but which turned out to be English..  
  
She was all dressed up in an impossibly short black sparkly dress, her hair swooped up into an elegant knot. She gave him the once-over as soon as she opened the door, finally smiling approvingly, her ruby red lips stretching.  
  
Kurt had decided to keep it simple and go with the skinniest black jeans he could find in his closet paired with an equally tight white tank top and a thin red belt. He’s finished it up with his vertically striped black-and-red - blazer, pushing the sleeves up to his elbows and, finally, had styled his hair into the “artsy mess” that had turned out to be such a success the previous night.  
  
“You look hot,” nodded Santana, kicking the door closed and grabbing his hand. “Let’s go get the party started!”  
  
In the cab, Kurt found himself filling Santana in on the latest gossip. He mostly talked about Rachel and Finn, which satisfied  
Santana only for a moment, before she started asking questions about his life.  
  
He told her a little about Blaine. Mostly he talked about the sleep thing and the animal thing, both of which made Santana snort.  
  
“That’s bullshit,” she said, digging in her purse for mascara and a pocket-mirror so she could fix her eyes up. “He could have just bought you a sound machine with The Best of the Tropics, or whatever.”  
  
Kurt cocked his head to a side. “What do you mean?”  
  
“He has the hots for you, obviously. And I know you keep telling everybody that guy is just your friend, but let’s get real here. This thing has a lot of potential for you!”  
  
Kurt felt his face go warm. “There is no potential, believe me. He’s a complete moron.”  
  
Santana’s smirk widened. “Are you blushing?”  
  
“No,” snapped Kurt. “My cheeks are just red. Anyway, where are we going?”  
  
Santana shot him one more naughty glance before re-crossing her long legs and getting more comfortable in her seat (and really was this how all women sat in cabs?).  
  
“I told you it was a party. My girlfriend invited me and suggested I brought a male date in case any homophobes showed up. So you’re my guy for the night. But preferably not the whole night, so I can get closer to her.”  
  
“Ohhh,” Kurt nodded approvingly. “So she’s a real catch, then?”  
  
“Oh yeah. She’s beautiful. She makes me want to leave my wife and children and I don’t even have any.”  
  
“Sounds serious. I hope the party isn’t too wild, though. I had too much wine last night and I’m still hung over. My body would not  _bear_  another drop of alcohol.”  
  
Santana rolled her eyes. “You’re such a light-weight, Hummel. But you know what they say; hair of the dog that bit you. Maybe you should have some wine tonight,” she winked as the cab pulled over in front of a luxurious-looking house.  
  
“I’d prefer to keep my coffee in, thank you. Also, please, don’t mention any dogs, cats or fish tonight.”  
  
Santana only chuckled in answer.  
  
-  
  
It was about when Kurt noticed the finger-food was shaped like little animals that he started getting a really bad feeling in his stomach. The penthouse where the party was held was spacious and stunk of snobbery. The furniture was made of mahogany, the floor was squeaky clean and the glasses were crystal. He hated it at first sight.  
  
It also turned out that the party wasn’t really a  _party_ , per se. It looked more like a serious gathering of the drinking kind. Men were all dressed in boring black suits, sipping their wine and engaging in small talk by the fire; the women wearing cocktail dresses and pearls and they covered their mouths with handkerchiefs when they laughed.  
  
Under different circumstances, Kurt would find this all really interesting and he would observe these people with the curiosity of the writer that he was. But this was not that kind of situation, as when he and Santana entered the main room, everybody turned towards them and there was a beat during which Kurt prayed the floor opened and swallowed him whole.  
  
That didn’t happen, though. Most of the people just stared at his outfit, visibly judging it. Kurt knew he looked fabulous. He sure felt that way, hangover or not. These people were practically dripping of snobbery.  
  
“Oh god. Open the window and let the awkward out,” Santana whispered into his ear, making him giggle.  
The buzz surrounding their arrival soon quieted down. People still gave them weird looks, but Kurt decided to ignore it. He clutched Santana’s hand like a life-line as they looked for her girlfriend in the tangled mess of rooms.  
  
“Why do these people voluntarily choose to live in labyrinths?” Kurt growled through his teeth as they entered about sixth room in row that looked completely the same.  
  
Finally, Santana exclaimed. “Brittany!”  
  
Wait, what?  
  
“What did you say?” Kurt’s eyes bulged out as watched a tall blonde approach them. It was Blaine’s nurse. It really was her. This was bad.  
  
She was wearing baby-blue gown with gold accessories, and she looked beautiful. She greeted Santana with a quick hug and kiss on the cheek before her eyes fell upon Kurt.  
  
“Oh my god!” she squealed in surprise, making few people who stood close by turn their heads and shoot them disapproving looks.  
  
“Hey, Brittany. Long time no see.” Kurt’s voice was weak. He let Brittany hug him, his breath hitching when she squeezed his waist more firmly than he’d expected.  
  
He knew this wasn’t it, yet. There was just one thing missing to top his wonderful week. And it was standing right in the very same room, facing the other way.  
  
It turned out the party they had crashed was a soirée held by The New York Veterinary Medical Association.  
  
Kurt suppressed the sudden urge to run away. Blaine was standing just few feet away from him dressed in a simple loose-fitting black suit that he didn’t at all look comfortable wearing, holding a tall glass of wine in one hand, the other one casually resting in his pocket. His hair was slicked back with so much gel Kurt wouldn’t be able to tell it was curly if he hadn’t known. He was talking to an elderly woman with a huge black satin bow in her hair.  
  
He also oozed snobbery. It was a disgusting sight.  
  
“Did you come here to see Blaine?” Brittany smiled at him and he just had to laugh.  
  
“No, I didn’t even know you were going to be here! I can’t believe I didn’t ask Santana your name! I could have spared myself all of this!” He whined, more to himself than at Brittany.  
  
Santana was watching their exchange with an interest of eagle watching its future dinner.  
  
“So that’s your vet, then?” She asked, her eyes sweeping up and down Blaine’s back. “Nice ass,” she noted.  
  
Kurt face-palmed. “Shut up. He’s not  _my_  vet. He’s Spaghetti’s vet. This is horrible. What should I do? Should I go talk to him?”  
  
Kurt’s head was spinning once again. On the one hand, this was a great opportunity to corner Blaine and talk to him about last night, on the other hand, he was like a parrot in a cage full of ravens and Blaine probably wouldn’t appreciate being seen with him here.  
  
Tough choice.  
  
Luckily for Kurt, he didn’t have to think about it anymore, as Blaine suddenly turned around and their eyes met.  
  
Blaine looked like a deer caught in headlights for a moment, but he made a quick recovery, leaning closer to the lady he’d been talking to and excusing himself before he made his way towards Kurt.  
  
As he was nearing him, Kurt suddenly didn’t know what to do with his eyes and hands, the look of Blaine all dressed up in a pristine black suit and slicked-back hair making him anxious.  
  
“Hey.” Blaine’s voice was soft and quiet, a far cry from the cheeky insulting tone Kurt was used to. This was a whole different Blaine. It was like he had a dapper twin.  
  
“Um. Hi, I guess,” Kurt shrugged, shuffling his feet, feeling Santana’s stare burning a hole into his back.  
  
“What are you doing here?” There. Finally, Blaine asked the crucial question. Something that would allow Kurt to actually talk about something and not just stand there awkwardly.  
  
“I came here with Santana. That’s the fierce girl on high heels behind me who is going to set my clothes on fire soon, if she doesn’t stop gawking at us.”  
  
A miniscule smile tugged at Blaine’s lips but it disappeared just as quickly as it appeared. “You look nice,” he said, his eyes stopping on the white tank top that was practically glued to Kurt’s skin, close to his stomach.  
  
“Thank you, I guess? You look... very dapper.” He had to go with “dapper”. There was no other word in the English language that could describe Blaine’s look better.  
  
“I feel like a Ken doll,” said Blaine through his teeth, smiling politely.  
Kurt frowned in confusion.  
  
“And now, If you excuse me, I need to go  _mingle_ ,” he said, giving Kurt a long urgent stare before he turned around and quickly left the room.  
  
Kurt just stood there, idly, eyes wide, unsure of what had just happened. He felt a tap on his shoulder.  
  
“Hummel. Grab your sweetheart and let’s go somewhere else. This place makes me itchy. I bet even the kids in Brooklyn party better than these stuck-up excuses for people. I thought vets were supposed to be all fun and games. How could you not when you get to hold baby animals every other week!”  
  
Kurt shook his head. “Anderson won’t go with us. He has to  _mingle_ . And I’m really tired so I think I’ll go home. I have a column to write and I’m suddenly feeling inspired. I’d only be crashing your date, anyway,” he sighed, shooting her a small smile.  
  
Santana raised her eyebrows but didn’t say anything.  
  
They left the soirée without saying goodbye, the sweet taste of over-priced wine still fresh on their tongues.  
  
-  
  
“Now he calls!”  
  
 _“Hello to you, too. You said you’d shave my cat if I didn’t. I just don’t want her to feel self-conscious. She’d look stupid with no fur. She has love handles.”_  
  
“I’m not too concerned about the cat right now, to be honest.”  
  
 _“Yeah. I figured. Is there any chance you could forget what you saw at the party tonight?”_  
  
“Well, imagine that! I suppose there’s more you’d like me to forget, am I right?”  
  
 _“Kurt.”_  
  
“Wow. First name comes up! What’s next, I wonder.”  
  
 _“Come on. I’m sorry, ok? It was a stupid, pompous veterinarian party full of people I hate, including my mother.”_  
  
“Wait. Your  _mom_  was there?”  
  
 _“You know the lady I talked to when you showed up? That was her. She always insists I go to these events and meet new people. And by people she means women.”_  
  
“Yikes.”  
  
 _“Exactly. I just—I don’t want you to think I didn’t want to be seen with you. That’s not it, at all. I wouldn’t care if they saw me with a group of drag queens in pink latex. I just didn’t want my mother and all the rest of them to see you with me. They would have given you so much shit.”_  
  
“Oh. I understand. It’s fine. Just... you’ve got to work with me here. I thought you were going to choke on the dapperness. It confused me. The whole party was terribly weird. Except for the animal shaped finger-food, which oddly enough felt like the only normal thing, and I realise that makes me sound very crazy.”  
  
 _“Oh yeah, The Dapper Blaine. He can be rather confusing. I can guarantee you not even my best friend believed it was really me when he first saw me behaving that way. It’s something I do for my parents. I’m not proud of it. But it’s the only way to shut them up.”_  
  
“I suddenly feel like calling my dad tonight and thanking him for being my dad.”  
  
 _“You do that. Listen, I’m sorry about the talk thing... I think this is not the right time to talk about what happened last night.”_  
  
“Fair enough.”  
  
 _“We will, though. I promise.”_  
  
“I will hold you to that. Remember I have hostages. And Pavarotti has no love handles.”  
  
 _“You’re a cruel, cruel man, Kurt Hummel.”_  
  
“What can I say. I do what I can.”  
  
 _“Good night, Hummel. Try to get some sleep, all right?”_  
  
“I’ll sure try. Goodnight to you too, Anderson.”  
  
 _“Hummel?”_  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
 _“The animal shaped finger-food was my idea.”_  
  



	6. Chapter 6

_**T** here is a moment when you say to yourself, “oh there you are, I’ve been looking for you forever”.  
  
I had that moment last week with a cup of non-fat mocha. I haven’t drunk it for years and it really dawned on me how delicious it was when I ordered it again after all that time and took that first sip. Yeah, I know, you’re probably wondering how was I even able to survive the day without my usual with several extra shots of caffeine. But I’m sleeping a lot better. Yes, it’s true. Kurt Hummel can now honestly say that he slept through the night without waking up once. (Mrs. Hubble from Portland, Maine; you can stop sending homemade honey and woolly socks to my P.O. Box now. Thank you for caring, though. There won’t be a cold foot in my household this winter.)  
  
I’d tell you how it all came about, but I’d have to start at the beginning, with the sad story of Dizzy the Pyrenean Mountain Dog, and  
I can’t do that, because that would be too much schmaltz for this column and my boss would tear my balls off and use them as Halloween decorations.  
  
Let’s just persevere with sarcasm, then. It is good for the soul, after all.  
Here’s to the new usual.  
Oh, and goodnight, everybody._  
  
June 15th 2017 | Kurt Hummel  
  
+  
  
 **Earlier that summer:**  
  
Kurt’s eyes flickered under his lids before finally opening to complete darkness.  
 _Wait; Darkness?_  Huh. What was going on? Was this another one of those nights when he only slept for five minutes? Or had he slept through the whole day and woken up during the next night? Nah, that would be ridiculous. But maybe there had been an unannounced solar eclipse. Or an alien invasion.  _Oh, god,_  please _let it be an alien invasion._  That would certainly brighten his day (or whatever it currently was).  
  
He drew a deep breath and almost choked when he sucked in a mouthful of cat fur.  
  
The solar eclipse had a name, then.  
  
He sat up on the bed, fighting a coughing fit and making Mrs. Schrodinger fall off his face in the process. She landed on the floor and disappeared behind the door, hissing.  
  
“Good morning to me,” grumbled Kurt grumpily, shaking his head as he threw off his covers.  
  
He was supposed to be having a relaxing Sunday. He had even put a sign on his door that read “Don’t disturb, I’m having a relaxing Sunday”. He’d decided he needed one the other night after his phone call with Blaine which didn’t resolve any of the tension between them. He didn’t want to think about Blaine, Blaine’s mother or Blaine’s  _anything_  today. He didn’t want to write, and he didn’t want to deal with  _any animals_  (including Finn Hudson, thank you very much).  
  
He also didn’t want to deal with Rachel or Mercedes or Santana or the barista from Café Grumpy who he kept bumping into suspiciously often on the street. All of those people were nagging him about the same thing. Blaine. It drove Kurt crazy. It felt like his whole life revolved around that guy, lately. Not only did Kurt have three quarters of Blaine’s pet collection running around his apartment and munching on his shoes, but his email inbox read nothing but “Dr. Blaine Anderson, BVSc” and he spent so much time in Café Grumpy he had been offered a discount (he even got a loyalty card with a big, sad face on it).  
  
Their relationship was difficult. Kurt kept desperately holding onto the fact that he and Blaine still hated each other with the intensity of several suns, but it was getting hard to ignore the sexual tension (especially after that memorable night when they almost sucked each other’s souls out).  
  
Blaine was too easy to hate and love at the same time. Kurt relished their fights and sarcastic discussions, because he’d never found a conversational match as good as Blaine before. (The only other person was Santana, but ever since she fell in love she’d considerably mellowed and now only called Kurt “her pasty unicorn bitch” every  _other_  time they saw each other.) Not to mention Kurt’s sleeping habits had gotten considerably better since he met Blaine. He was still far from having healthy sleeping patterns, but it was progress.  
  
Kurt sighed and lay back on his pillows, staring at the ceiling. He deserved one day of peace, didn’t he? His phone beeped on his bedside table. Kurt rolled his eyes and couldn’t supress an annoyed moan, but reached for it nevertheless.  
It was an email notification. Well, then.  
  
-  
 **From:**  Dr. Blaine Anderson, BVSc  
 **To:**  Kurt Hummel  
 **Subject:**  just a heads up  
 **1 attachment**  –  [kurtswiki.jpg](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/lemmesay/21044138/73271/original.jpg)  
  
Hey, Hummelnator!  
I know you said you wouldn’t want to be disturbed today (and “especially not by you, Anderson” by which I’m still not sure I should be flattered or offended), but I thought this was kind of important, so bear with me.  
  
I couldn’t sleep last night (yeah, I know, don’t laugh, you’re not the only one having sleep issues anymore), so I went online and when I was browsing through Wikipedia, I decided to re-read your page.  
  
There’s something wrong with it *cough*. I made a print screen for you in case it got deleted before you got the chance to read it.  
  
So, enjoy!  
Blaine  
P.S. You look hot in that picture ;)  
  
-  
  
 **From:**  Kurt Hummel  
 **To:**  Blaine Anderson, BVSc  
 **Subject:**  are you flirting with me?  
  
Blaine,  
I’m going to set her bangs on fire for this. So much for a relaxing Sunday.  
  
I’m not sure if I should apologize to you. Do you feel violated? I assure you that I am not as famous as having a Wikipedia page makes me seem. Nobody probably read that. But I can mention that it was a joke in my next column if you want (?).  
  
You’re having sleep issues? I would laugh at you (because lol, look how the tables have turned), but I know what an absolute pain in the ass it is, so I won’t. Maybe I should give you your animals back? Let me know!  
  
KH  
P.S. Never EVER call me that again.  
  
-  
  
 **From:**  Dr. Blaine Anderson, BVSc  
 **To:**  Kurt Hummel  
 **Subject:**  I AM a Disney prince  
  
You mean never call you “hot” or “Hummelnator” again? I’m quite fond of both, so, no, thank you, but no. (And yes, I am flirting with you. I haven’t slept for 24 hours. I would flirt with the garbage men right now. Actually, I would totally flirt with our garbage man. His name is Bob and he has abs.)  
  
Are you crazy? I loved what Rachel wrote in there! It made me laugh so hard I had to muffle it with my pillow and almost suffocated.  
I love that she called me a Disney prince. I’m considering putting it after my name. (Or maybe in the middle? How about “Dr. Blaine Charming Anderson, BVSc”? I think it has a nice ring to it.)  
  
I wouldn’t call them sleep issues, per se. Or I would, but they would have to be called Cooper Anderson (or My Moronic Brother Who Blasts Duran Duran in the middle of the night).  
  
In other news, you’re not the only one being interrogated about our “relationship” all the time. I went to dinner with Tina last week and she kept trying to convince me that we were perfect for each other. I tried to explain to her that we can’t stay in the same room for more than 45 minutes without strangling each other, but she just giggled at that and said something about controlled danger (mind you, she was on her third glass of rosé by then).  
Blaine  
  
-  
  
 **From:**  Kurt Hummel  
 **To:**  Blaine Anderson, BVSc  
 **Subject:**  Shut up. Duran Duran are great.  
  
“Bob the Garbage Guy”? Sounds like a rock star. You’re not a Disney prince, Anderson. Or if you are, what does that make me? (And if you say Disney princess, I WILL bite you. Warning: sharp teeth! - Unless it’s Mulan. That girl knows how to work a sword.)  
  
Your brother sounds like more and more like a charmer the more you write about him. I’m intrigued and beginning to get interested in meeting the guy. Either we’ll love each other at first sight (since we have shared interests) or I might murder him using your cat as the murder weapon. Still, I think it could make for a fun afternoon.  
  
Why is everybody so invested in our relationship? I need new friends.  
  
KH  
  
-  
  
Kurt chuckled when he saw that Blaine had answered his last email almost immediately. He was just about to click on the subject when he heard a heart-wrenching scream from the living room.  
  
“What the hell is going on!?”  
  
Kurt ran into the living-room only to find Finn and Rachel sprawled on the floor next to the sofa. Well, more specifically, Finn was sprawled on his back next to the sofa screeching like a girl, with Rachel kneeling next to him and visibly panicking.  
  
“I think I slipped a disc or something!” Cried Finn, his face all twisted up in pain.  
  
“What happened?” Kurt looked at Rachel, who only had eyes for Finn, trying to soothe him with her hands.  
  
“Don’t touch me; don’t touch me!” Finn shouted immediately.  
  
“We were cuddling on the couch and then we were on the floor and he was yelling and-“  
  
“Ok, stop right there; I don’t want to know the details.” Kurt raised his hand to silence her and squatted down next to Finn, eyeing him.  
  
“Do you think you can get up?”  
  
“No chance in hell,” groaned Finn, tiny drops of sweat prickling on his forehead.  
  
“Oh my god,” Moaned Rachel.  
  
“Rachel, shut up and bring some ice or something.” Kurt rolled his eyes. Rachel stood up, nodding.  
  
“Shouldn’t I boil some water?”  
  
“He’s not giving birth!” Snapped Kurt. “Bring some frozen peas or carrots, quick!”  
  
“I think he needs to go to the ER, Kurt,” said Rachel seriously as she handed him the bag.  
  
Kurt thought about it for a moment. It was Sunday and Finn probably didn’t have insurance and it would be too complicated to get him to the hospital. He needed to lie down and he needed some painkillers quick and there was only one person Kurt knew that could provide that on a Sunday afternoon.  
  
He sighed, inwardly surrendering.  
  
-  
  
The cab ride was a nightmare. Finn kept moaning the whole time, stretched out on the back seat (though he was so tall his feet were sticking out of the window). Rachel had his head in her lap, stroking his hair and mumbling words of comfort into his ear while occasionally shouting at the cabbie to go faster because ‘Finn is dying of terrible pain!!!’.  
  
Kurt kept simultaneously apologizing to the cabbie and trying to talk to Blaine on the phone:  
  
 _“Wow. You didn’t have to call, you know, you could have just answered the email!”_  
  
“What? This is not email -related. I need a favour and it’s kind of urgent.”  
  
 _“Really? Could you repeat that? Kurt Hummel needs a favour from me? Voluntarily?”_  
  
“Could you stop with the sarcasm for two minutes? This is an emergency. Are you at the office?”  
  
 _“Um. No? It’s Sunday afternoon, you know. What’s going on?! Did something happen to any of the animals?”_  
  
“You could say that…”  
  
 _“What did you say? I can’t hear you very well, it’s really noisy on your end. Where the hell are you?”_  
  
Kurt rolled his eyes, reaching back to put his hand over Rachel’s mouth.  
  
“I said, no, it’s not the animals. It’s Finn. He did something to his back and you’re the only doctor I know. We’re in a cab on our way to your office. Can you help?”  
  
 _“Oh. Um. Sure. I’ll take a look. Just give me fifteen minutes to get there. But Hummel, you do realise that I’m a vet, right? Finn may be as dull as a baby possum, but I’m pretty sure that his internal organs are still human.”_  
  
“We just need you to look at him. And maybe give him some pain meds. It’s really bad. With his screeching, I mean. I’ll take him to a real doctor tomorrow, no worries.”  
  
 _“Ok, then. But wait, I am a real-“_  
  
“Oh, you’re the best, Anderson! See you soon! Bye!”  
  
Kurt ended the call, turning in his seat to take a look at Finn, whose face was as pale as a sheet of paper.  
  
“Kurt,” moaned Finn, swallowing. “Why are you taking me to a vet?”  
  
Kurt frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
“Because you’re a Dumbo, Finn. Dumbo.”  
  
-  
  
Blaine was incredible. He handled both Finn and Rachel so well, just like he would have had Finn been an overgrown border collie and Rachel his anxious master. Kurt and Blaine had managed to lift Finn on the table so Blaine could take a look at his back and then they successfully sedated him into oblivion. Rachel and Finn had gone home, Finn happily slobbering onto Rachel’s shoulder as Kurt stuffed them into the backseat and instructed the cabbie to go very slow (and also slipped him a fat tip as an apology for  
Rachel’s rude remarks about his driving).  
  
He and Blaine had decided to go for a walk, popping round the café on their way, because neither of them had slept well the night before and Kurt had acute caffeine cravings anyway.  
  
“Thank you so much, again. Seriously; you saved my life. Well, my eardrums. But that counts, too. I am quite fond of my eardrums,” Kurt babbled as they left the coffee shop, each nursing a piping hot Café Grumpy cup.  
  
“No problem. It was a great distraction. I was getting really bored at the apartment. I’m not a great fan of relaxing Sundays and there’s only so many walks you can take with your dog before even she looks at you like you’re a crazy man,” Blaine laughed, buttoning up his navy sweater with one hand, as it was turning quite chilly. Kurt felt an unexpected urge to do it for him. He might have looked like an extra from a movie crossover of  _Lord of the Rings_  and  _The Gondolier_ , but the knit-work was beautiful - tight and chunky, with white and red lines along the hems - and it fit Blaine perfectly (although the sleeves  _could_ have been shorter). Blaine caught him staring and Kurt could have sworn his cheeks flushed red for a moment.  
  
“Dare I ask how Finn caused himself such injury?” Blaine piped up after a moment of awkward silence.  
Kurt stifled a laugh with his hand. “Well. How can I - he and Rachel were having  _relations_  on the sofa and Rachel probably got way too carried away… long story short, Finn ends up on the floor with his back all screwed up.”  
  
“Oh!” Blaine exclaimed, his face all bright. “So it was a sex injury! You may not believe this, but I’ve never treated one of those before.”  
  
Kurt’s eyebrows flew up.  
  
“In my office, I mean,” Blaine added quickly, blushing once again. “Some of the animal species do have pretty wild sex, of course, but they rarely injure each other, although I did have a chinchilla brought to me once who, believe it or not, had broken its-“  
  
“Ok, Anderson, I get it, no need to go into details,” laughed Kurt, patting Blaine on the shoulder, making his cheeks go even redder.  
  
And what the hell was happening? Blaine never blushed. Kurt did, of course, all the damn time, and it was always too apparent,  
due to his pale complexion…. But Blaine? No. Kurt was growing more nervous with each step as they approached Blaine’s building.  
  
“So…” Blaine started as they stopped in front of his doorsteps, both smiling uncomfortably. “I think you’re ready for stage three.”  
  
Kurt chuckled. “And what might that be, I wonder. Wait; let me guess, is stage three the one where you drag me up to your apartment with the excuse of showing me your collection of pocket watches, then murder me and feed me to your fish? I’ve always known you were a serial killer, Anderson.”  
  
Blaine shook his head, lifting his index finger so it was few inches away from Kurt’s face.  
  
“No, but thank you for the suggestion. I will save it for later, when you piss me off again. What I meant was that it’s time for you to meet my dog.”  
  
“And that’s stage three?” Kurt looked back at him skeptically, as they climbed up the stairs and Blaine fished for the keys in his satchel.  
  
“Naturally.”  
  
“You’re gonna give me your dog for the night, aren’t you. I assure you that there is no space left in my bed, Anderson. Your Dudley Dursley’s stunt double of a cat takes up most of it. There’s no way an additional dog will fit in there.”  
  
Blaine rolled his eyes. “We’ll see how it goes. Polka might not even like you, you know. She’s very picky with people. For instance, she can’t stand my brother, which is quite inconvenient, seeing as how we live together. Yesterday morning she started howling when he was doing scales and then ate his sheet music just so she could throw it back up into his lucky sneakers. He was very mad.”  
  
Kurt laughed. “I can imagine.”  
  
“It wasn’t a very good song, anyway. My dog has class.”  
  
“Wait; is your brother home right now? Because I’m not sure I can handle both your dog and your brother at the same time.”  
  
“No, I promise you, he’s out. Concerning stages, meeting Cooper is way past number fifty; you’re definitely  _not_  ready for that.”  
  
“Fifty?! I thought you said there were only four stages. Anderson, don’t play games with me. Don’t make me dig up the email. I have it all saved up.”  
  
“Aww, you save all our emails, that is so sweet, seriously!”  
  
“Yeah, every time I need to deal with my anger issues I print them out and then rip them into tiny pieces one email at a time pretending they’re tiny Blaine Andersons. It’s not very hard to imagine.”  
  
“Ouch. That hurt.”  
  
Kurt giggled evilly.  
  
Blaine finally opened the door, pushing it out of the way with his knee.  
  
“Welcome to my home! Well, our home. Well, Cooper’s home. You get the point.”  
  
Kurt rolled his eyes and looked around, taking in the tiny hallway. The walls were dark brown and the carpet was deliciously soft and before Kurt got a chance to check out the coat racks, a medium-sized ball of black, white and ginger fur jumped on him and backed him up against the door, licking his face. Kurt was still in shock when he heard Blaine snort with laughter.  
  
“So, this is my dog, Polka. And I guess she likes you, then.”  
  
Meeting Polka wasn’t like meeting any other dog. She wasn’t one of those overgrown dogs who brings you your slippers every morning, but she certainly made up for it with her personality and playfulness.  
  
“You know,” said Kurt, gazing back into her (awfully familiar) brown eyes as she rested her front paws on his chest and looked at him searchingly with her tongue hanging out of her mouth, as if checking if he was a friend or foe, “I am not an animal person, but  
I’m pretty sure you’re the cutest thing ever.” He scratched Polka behind her ear and she closed her eyes in pleasure, waggling her tail.  
  
Blaine raised his eyebrows, soft smile playing on his lips. “Who are you and what have you  _done_  to Kurt Hummel? If I’d known it’d only take my dog to get you all mellowed up, I’d have introduced you two much sooner!”  
  
Kurt made a face, snorting. “Well, I guess your plan wasn’t as flawless as you’d originally thought, eh?” He did blush a little when he saw Blaine’s face all lit up at the sight of Kurt playing with his dog. Oh, shucks, he  _was_  going soft. And the worst thing about it was that it had nothing to do with Polka…  
  
“This apartment really is small,” Kurt noted after Blaine had showed him all the rooms (there were only three so it wasn’t a very long tour) and playfully poked Kurt in the ribs when he demanded to see his collection of pocket watches.  
  
“I told you it was small. But I’m planning on getting my own place soon. It’s just really hard to find time to actually look for apartments, since I’m either at the office, or-“  
  
“With me. Yeah, I know what you mean,” Kurt chuckled. “Ever since we met, it’s all been either work or spending time with you. I think I should actually thank you, because you  _did_  get me sleeping better, ironically.”  
  
Blaine smirked, propping his chin on his hand. “Do continue, Mr. Hummel, I’ve been waiting for this.” He giggled when Kurt kicked him, rubbing his shin.  
  
“No, but really,” said Kurt, “I think it was kind of nice in a really weird way. Being friends with you, I mean. Since we hate each other and all…”  
  
“Don’t tell me you don’t like our daily fights. Plus, we make kick-ass duet partners.” Blaine’s smile was so warm and genuine at that point it made Kurt’s stomach flip.  
  
Kurt blushed, trying not to think back to that night. Blaine’s incredibly full and soft lips, his hands all over him, pressing him into the restaurant wall… Kurt cleared his throat, looking away.  
  
They were sitting on the couch (“this is actually my bedroom, dining room and music room at the same time. So. Like, welcome to my crib”) and sipping lemonade in a little awkward, but not uncomfortable silence, when the door flew open and somebody ran in, brushed past Kurt and Blaine and disappeared into another room.  
  
“What the hell…?” Kurt looked at Blaine who was trying to choke himself with one of the cushions.  
  
“Cooper. He wasn’t supposed to come home ‘til later tonight! I am so sorry about this, Kurt,” Blaine moaned into the fabric, shaking his head.  
  
Kurt laughed. “It can’t be that bad. I’m pretty sure he can’t be worse than you,” he joked.  
  
“He is.” Blaine looked up, his eyes full of horror. “He really is. We should run now. Correction:  _you_  should run now. Save yourself, Hummel, ‘cos this is going to end in tears.”  
  
Kurt rolled his eyes, crossing his hands on his chest. “You’re being ridiculous.”  
  
Turned out Blaine wasn’t kidding about his brother. Cooper Anderson was a piece of work. He entered the living room with a radiant smile and a wild look in his eyes, squeezing himself in between Kurt and Blaine on the couch, practically pushing his brother off.  
  
“So, you’re the famous column writer Blaine won’t shut up about!” He exclaimed, looking Kurt up and down.  
  
Wait, what?  
  
“Coop. I’m right here. I suggest  _you_  shut up,” growled Blaine next to him.  
  
Kurt was looking at Cooper with interest, still a bit dazzled by his presence (or maybe just dazzled by his teeth). Cooper didn’t look like his brother at all. He was taller than Blaine, his hair wasn’t curly but wavy, and his eyes were intensely blue. He was wearing a pair of dark purple leggings, tight fitting black t-shirt and a headband. He looked like a love child of Holly Holiday and Prince Eric from  _The Little Mermaid_ .  
  
“Oh no, do continue, I am very intrigued,” Kurt said.  
  
“I’m sure you are,” nodded Cooper, petting Kurt’s knee. “I’m glad I decided to come home earlier to work out. I could have missed you!”  
  
“That would have been terrible,” remarked Blaine from the other side of the couch and Kurt would have laughed if he had actually been able to see Blaine’s pouting face.  
  
“I can’t leave you kids alone for a second. A few more minutes and god knows what I would have caught you doing on my pristine couch.” Cooper clicked his tongue, ignoring Kurt’s raised eyebrows and Blaine’s attempts to ticklefight him out of his seat.  
  
“That’s not what-“ Kurt started.  
  
“Oh, please. It’s written all over that silky smooth face of yours. I know Blaine’s already head over heels considering our fridge is literally wallpapered with scraps of your columns and I’m pretty sure he cross-stiches your initials onto the animals at work.”  
  
“Oh my god, Cooper; shut up!” Blaine jumped off the couch, hair ruffled and cheeks so red it looked like his whole face was on fire.  
  
“Why? You should hear him talk about you, Kurt. All the times I had to sit through his renditions of  _I Wanna Be Your Man_ . Geez! I do love the sight of new romance blossoming like a rose on a slightly humid morning, though,” he paused, eyes going wide and nostrils flaring. “Oh god, I think I just made poetry. Get me some pens and coloured markers, now,” he exclaimed, the fingers of his outstretched hand wriggling.  
  
“I think it’s time for you to run on your tread-mill, because once I get to you, your limbs will be in too many pieces to use it again in the foreseeable future,” Blaine said in a dark growly voice.  
  
Cooper shrugged and stood up, patting his brother’s cheek. “Take it easy, squirt.”  
  
“It was very nice to meet you, Kurt,” he turned around and winked at him, stretching his arms over his head. “It’s time to give this old bod a good work-out.” He flexed his arms one more time before shutting himself back in his room, leaving Kurt and Blaine in a  _very_  awkward silence.  
  
Kurt could feel his heartbeat thumping in his fingertips.  
  
“I think I need some air,” Blaine piped up.  
  
-  
  
“So,“ Kurt cleared his throat. “I didn’t know you were into Stones.”  
  
It was already getting dark and chilly outside as they walked through Central Park, deep in thoughts.  
  
Blaine looked at Kurt, his big eyes sparkling. He chuckled, eventually. “Actually, that song is a Lennon/McCartney original. But yeah, rub it in, why don’t you…”  
  
Kurt giggled, unable to react in any other way. He’d been inwardly freaking out ever since they left Blaine’s building with Polka at their heels, his brain desperately trying to collect its thoughts and piece them all together again. It was pretty much failing, so far.  
  
“I…” Kurt trailed away, shaking his head. “Was  _this_  why you didn’t want me to meet Cooper the whole time?” He heard Blaine draw deep breath.  
  
“Nope. He’s  _genuinely_  an asshole.”  
  
Kurt giggled again. It sounded a lot less hysterical than before. “This wouldn’t be so awkward if we’d talked about the kiss thing sooner, you know,” he added. He didn’t know what more to say. It was so weird. He’d been convinced that Blaine hated him for such a long time his brain was refusing to accept the fact that it might be the other way around. Blaine was silent next to him, which was something Blaine never did and it was unnerving. Kurt sighed.  
  
“Look, if it makes you feel any better, we can just forget all about it. We can pretend it never happened,” he said just as Blaine stopped, turned towards him and blurted out:  
  
“I’m crazy about you.”  
  
“What?” they both said at the same time, eyes widening.  
  
Blaine ruffled his hair with his hand in a nervous gesture, sitting down on a bench and patting the space next to him. Kurt sat down, refusing to meet Blaine’s eyes and watched Polka instead, who was exploring some bushes on the other side of the path. He felt Blaine’s hand on his knee.  
  
“I… I’ve always kind of liked you. And ever since that night at the Apple Restaurant, I can’t stop thinking about you,” Blaine let out a puff of air, smiling a little. Something in his voice made Kurt turn his head and finally look at him. The sincerity in Blaine’s eyes almost took his breath away.  
  
“I love your columns. The way you use sarcasm as an armor against everything bad that happens to you. You’re fun and incredibly talented and lovely and you  _move me_ . All the teasing, the emails, the coffee shop… it was mostly an excuse to spend more time with you.”  
  
Kurt shivered, his stomach flip-flopping wildly. He didn’t move when Blaine leaned closer and planted a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t move when Blaine started peppering tiny kisses on his lower lip. He did move though, finally overcoming his shock, when Blaine  _really_  kissed him, probing his lips with his tongue. Kurt shivered again, as if a firebolt was going through his body, and returned the kiss, lifting his arms to wrap them around Blaine’s neck, fingers happily burying in the curls there. They kissed, exploring and caressing each other’s mouths. They kissed until their lips swelled and their eyes went glassy with need.  
  
When they finally parted, both breathless (and how stupid were they, snogging each other silly in the middle of Central Park), Kurt chuckled, rolling his eyes.  
  
“I think I’ve been waiting for you to say something like this ever since that kiss on the karaoke stage. You sure as hell took your time.”  
  
“Well, I’m sorry Hummel, but our friendship wasn’t exactly a standard thing.” Blaine’s voice was raspy with arousal and Kurt wanted nothing more than pull him back in again. So he did, giggling.  
  
“You realise our friends will never let us live this down, though, right?”  
  
-  
  
The apartment was mostly quiet, since Finn was still at Rachel’s (her apartment was closer to Blaine’s office and the cabbie wouldn’t have been able to make it further with a drugged Finn in the backseat babbling and making up songs about “round boobies and chocolate chip cookies”). Kurt knew that it would never be as quiet as it used to be, though, not with a canary, cat and currently  _a dog_  taking temporary residence in there.  
  
It was quite late into the night (or was it early morning already - Kurt wasn’t sure which, but for the first time since he moved to NYC, he really didn’t care). He and Blaine lay sprawled half-naked on his bed, trading chaste kisses and playing with each other’s hair. They talked in hushed tones, eager to tell each other so many things they haven’t before, now that they could.  
  
Blaine crawled closer to Kurt and placed a kiss on his neck, nuzzling the spot a bit.  
  
“You know what’s funny?” He breathed against his collar bone, making Kurt’s toes tingle. Kurt shook his head, not trusting his voice at the moment. “I didn’t even have to send you that last email.” Blaine laughed against his chest, his curly hair tickling Kurt’s nose.  
  
“What email?” he raised one eyebrow curiously.  
  
“The last one I sent you. You didn’t get a chance to read it.”  
  
“And what did it say?”  
  
Blaine shook his head. “Nothing overly important. You’re gonna have to read it later.” He nuzzled Kurt’s skin again, kissing his way down Kurt’s belly, making him laugh.  
  
“What are you doing down there, Anderson? You’re all scratchy.”  
  
“It’s not my fault I haven’t had the time to shave today because of your ‘Finnmergency’. Also, are you ever gonna drop the ‘Anderson’?”  
  
“You just “Hummel-ed” me not five minutes ago. Not your place to ask, honey.” Kurt slipped his fingers back in Blaine’s hair as his stubbly cheek rested on his navel.  
  
“Can you legitimately call me honey and Anderson at the same time? Can you do that in a relationship?” Blaine asked, looking up from his hands which were busy trying to get into Kurt’s pyjama bottoms (Kurt’s breath hitched at the sight).  
  
“Do we have a relationship?” he smiled, blushing at the thought.  
  
Blaine laughed. “Well we  _are_  in bed together… and so is most of my stuff, so I’d say we’re half way there. Remember when I said  
I’d get all my animals in your bed one day? That was my evil plan all along.”  
  
Kurt giggled, fighting Blaine off of him so he could tickle his feet.  
  
“Yeah, except, technically, they’re not all here. Just you, your cat, your dog…”  
  
“And you.”  
  
They smiled at each other.  
  
“But not the bird or the fi-“ Kurt started again only to be silenced by Blaine’s lips.  
  
-  
  
It was around 3 AM when Kurt woke up again, curiosity stronger than his exhaustion. He slowly untangled his limbs from Blaine’s and sat up, reaching for his laptop. It took a few minutes to start up and Kurt tapped his fingers on his knee impatiently, waiting for his email inbox to pop up on the screen.  
  
When it finally did, Kurt’s eyes scanned the text quickly. He couldn’t supress a giggle as a warm feeling spread through his body, ending in his fingertips. He snapped the laptop closed and slid under the covers, smiling as two strong arms drew him closer and the added warmth of the body spooning him sent several delicious shivers down his spine.  
  
-  
  
 **From:**  Dr. Blaine Anderson, BVSc  
 **To:**  Kurt Hummel  
 **Subject:**  not at 3 am they’re not  
  
You know what, maybe they’re right. Maybe we should give it a shot and go on an actual date.  
I think I’d quite like that. How would you feel about Central Park?  
  
Let me know what you think, ok?  
Blaine  
  
P.S. You don’t know how much effort it cost me to type this. Don’t make me wait for the answer too long, ok? Gee whiz, this is kind of nerve-wracking.  
  
-  
  
Somewhere at the foot of the bed, Mrs. Schrodinger started purring.

 

-the end


End file.
